THE 

MAN  WHO 

LIVED  IN  A 

SHOE 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS 


.*.-**.  -1*.       .  *-'^»   « 


THE  MAN  WHO 
LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 


BY 

HENRY  JAMES  FORMAN 

AUTHOR  OF 
THE  ENCHANTED  GARDEN,   ETC. 


INTERNATIONAL  FICTION  LIBRARY 

CLEVELAND,  O.  NEW  YORK,  N.  Y. 

MADE  IN  U.  S.  A. 


Copyright,  1922, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPAHY. 


All  rights  reserved 


puses  or 

THE   COMMERCIAL    BOOKBINDING    OO. 
CLEVELAND 


BOOK   ONE 


2129438 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED 
IN  A  SHOE 

CHAPTER  I 

ARE  there  any  women  to-day,  I  wonder,  like  the  girl 
wife  of  Jacopone  da  Todi,  who  are  found  in  the  midst  of 
worldly  brilliance  wearing  the  hair  shirt  of  piety  and  de- 
votion over  their  spotless  hearts  ? 

I  doubt  it. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  Jacopone,  that  "  smart  "  thirteenth- 
century  Italian  lawyer,  became  a  great  saint  when  he 
made  that  discovery,  after  his  beautiful  young  wife's  ac- 
cidental death.  It  would  make  a  saint  of  anybody. 

I  am  quite  sure  Gertrude  is  not  like  that.  But  then 
Gertrude  is  not  my  wife  —  as  yet.  Nor  am  I  Jacopone. 
I  am  nothing  more,  I  fear,  than  a  contented  voluptuary 
of  a  bookworm.  Like  King  James,  I  feel  that  were  it 
my  fate  to  be  a  captive,  I  should  wish  to  be  shut  up  in 
a  great  library  consuming  my  days  among  my  fellow- 
prisoners,  the  blessed  books. 

To  distil  the  reading  of  a  lifetime  into  a  little  wisdom 
for  my  poor  wits,  that  has  been  all  my  aim  and  my  am- 
bition, if  by  any  name  so  dynamic  as  ambition  I  may  call 
it.  An  old  young  man  is  what  I  have  been  called,  and 
Gertrude  seems  propelled  by  some  potent  urge  to  change 
me  —  God  knows  why. 

I  have  just  been  talking  with  —  I  mean  listening  to  — 
Gertrude. 


4  THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

We   are   to   be   married,    she   says,    in   three   weeks. 

Time  out  of  mind  we  have  been  friends,  Gertrude  and 
I,  as  our  mothers  had  been  before  us.  She,  the  highly 
modern  spinster  and  I,  such  as  I  am,  have  been  linked 
for  years  by  an  engagement  which  is  not  an  engagement 
in  the  old  sense  at  all.  It  is  a  sort  of  entente  cordiale. 
An  engagement  in  the  conventional  meaning  of  the  word 
would  be  as  abhorrent  to  Gertrude  as  the  old-fashioned 
marriage.  As  soon  would  she  think  of  "  being  given  in 
marriage "  with  bell,  book  and  orange  blossoms  as  of 
calling  herself  "  Mrs.  Randolph  Byrd  "  —  or  anything 
but  Miss  Bayard. 

That  is  what  we  have  been  discussing  this  gloomy 
afternoon  in  my  snug  little  apartment  before  a  garrulous 
fire.  For  Gertrude  is  not  so  absurd  as  to  hesitate  to 
call  on  me  at  my  apartment  any  more  than  I  would  hesi- 
tate to  call  on  her  in  Gramercy  Park. 

"  But  won't  it  be  awkward,"  I  ventured  in  mild  specu- 
lation, "  if  after  we  are  married  we  have  to  stay  at  an 
hotel  together,  or  share  a  cabin  on  a  ship  —  to  be  Miss 
Bayard  and  Mr.  Byrd?" 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Ranny,"  retorted  Gertrude,  with 
her  usual  introductory  phrase.  "  Awkward  or  not,  do 
you  think  I  should  give  up  my  name  that  I  have  lived 
under  all  my  life,  fought  for  and  established  ?  " 

"Of  course  not,"  I  hastily  apologized.  "  I  hadn't 
thought  of  that."  I  could  not  help  wondering  what  she 
meant  by  having  established  her  name.  Except  as  re- 
gards one  or  two  committees  and  vacation  funds  Ger- 
trude's name  is  unknown  to  celebrity. 

:<  You  with  your  H.  H.,"  she  ran  on  briskly,  with  the 
triumph  of  having  scored.  "  Surely  you  don't  want  to 
cling  to  the  musty  old  formulas?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  I  answered  her  readily.     I  am 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE  5 

no  match  for  Gertrude  in  argument.  Of  a  sudden  I  be- 
came aware  that  despite  the  hissing  fire  in  the  grate  there 
was  no  sparkle  in  the  air  this  chill  November  afternoon. 
The  H.  H.  to  which  Gertrude  had  alluded  was  the  only 
thing  resembling  an  emotion  that  betrayed  any  sign  of 
smoldering  life  within  me  in  that  discussion  of  ours 
touching  matrimony. 

The  H.  H.,  I  would  better  explain,  stands  for  Horror 
of  Home  —  for  my  profound  repugnance  toward  any- 
thing resembling  the  fettering  bonds  of  domesticity.  A 
man,  I  feel,  should  be  as  free  to  do  what  he  pleases 
and  to  go  where  he  likes  when  and  if  married  as  when 
single.  Otherwise  who  would  assume  the  chains  and 
slavery  of  that  shadowed  prison-house?  To-morrow, 
my  heart  suddenly  tells  me,  I  must  be  off  upon  a  journey 
of  unknown  duration. 

Once  again  I  would  see  the  estraded  gardens  of  the 
Riviera,  the  olive  groves  of  Italy,  the  sacred  parchments 
and  incunabula  of  the  Laurentian  Library  in  Florence. 
I  would  wander  anew  in  the  wilderness  of  the  Biblio- 
theque  Nationale  of  Paris  and  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Seine,  where  once  I  collected  the  lore  of  Balzac  and  of 
Sainte-Beuve.  And  who  dare  prevent  my  setting  off  at 
a  moment's  notice  for  the  ill-lighted  rotunda  of  the  Brit- 
ish Museum  or  the  cloister  precincts  of  the  Bodleian  at 
Oxford  ?  Even  as  Gertrude  was  speaking,  I  experienced 
an  irresistible  longing  for  all  those  places,  for  the  turf 
walks  and  pleached  alleys  of  Oxford  and  the  beautiful 
"  Backs  "  of  the  Cambridge  Colleges.  There  is  a  manu- 
script at  Trinity  that  I  must  see  again,  and  I  have  long 
promised  myself  a  month  in  Pepys's  old  library  at  Mag- 
delene  in  Cambridge. 

But  Gertrude  is  not  like  other  women. 
"  What  I  like  about  you,  Ranny,"  she  remarked,  flick- 
ing the  ash  from  her  cigarette  with  unerring  aim  into 


6  THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

the  hearth,  "is  your  reasonableness.  You  hate  as  I  do 
to  see  two  people  handcuffed  together  like  a  pair  of  con- 
victs for  life.  Might  as  well  go  back  to  the  Stone  Age 
or  to  the  times  of  a  dozen  children  in  the  house  and  the 
mother  grilling  herself  all  day  before  the  kitchen  fire. 
Ugh !  "  and  she  gave  a  shudder. 

"  No  fear  of  that  with  you,"  I  laughed. 

"  No,  I  should  hope  not,"  she  puffed  energetically. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  I  found  myself  reassuring  her 
quickly,  "  even  as  it  is,  you  have  three  weeks  to 
think  it  over  —  to  back  out  in.  Three  weeks  is  a 
good  long  time,  Gertrude.  Much  can  happen  in  three 
weeks." 

On  the  table  before  me  lay  a  new  life  of  Leonardo  da 
Vinci,  just  arrived  from  Paris  that  day.  My  fingers 
itched  to  open  it  and  turn  the  pages.  But  that  would 
have  been  rude,  so  I  forebore. 

"  I  am  not  like  that,"  Gertrude  murmured  reflectively, 
"  and  you  know  it,  Ranny." 

"  Of  course  not,"  I  guiltily  assented. 

"  I  know,"  she  tapped  my  cheek  with  a  playful  finger 
—  Gertrude  can  be  very  charming  if  she  thinks  of  it  — 
"  I  know  perfectly  what  I  want  to  do.  And  when  I 
make  up  my  mind  to  do  a  thing  I  stick  to  it." 

And  so  she  does,  the  clever  girl ! 

"  I  wish  I  were  like  you,"  I  muttered.  "  I  am  a  sort 
of  drifter,  I'm  afraid." 

"  That's  why  you  need  a  manager,"  laughed  Gertrude. 
"  Wait  till  you've  got  me.  Then  you  won't  be  just  run- 
ning after  books  and  telling  yourself  what  you're  going 
to  do  some  day.  You'll  be  doing,  publishing,  lecturing; 
you'll  be  known  —  famous." 

"  Oh,  my  heavens!  "  I  cried  out  in  a  terror,  throwing 
up  a  defensive  hand.  "  I  think  I'll  run  away." 

"  Too  late,"  she  smiled,  with  a  cool  archness.     When 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE  7 

Gertrude  smiles  she  is  exceedingly  handsome.  "  I've 
ordered  my  trousseau.  You  wouldn't  leave  me  waiting 
at  the  City  Hall,  would  you?  " 

"  I  might,"  I  answered,  smiling  back  at  her.  "  If 
there  should  happen  to  be  a  book  auction  that  morning. 
And  it's  only  a  subway  fare  back  to  your  flat." 

"  Now,  this  is  the  program,"  she  announced,  assuming 
her  magisterial  tone,  which  instantaneously  reduces  me 
to  a  spineless  worm  before  her.  "  You  will  come  to  my 
flat  on  the  twenty-fourth  at  ten  o'clock.  Then  we  shall 
drive  down  in  a  taxi  to  the  City  Hall  and  get  the  license 
—  or  whatever  they  call  it  —  " 

"  Lucky  you'll  be  there,"  I  could  not  help  murmuring. 
"  I  should  probably  get  a  dog  license  or  a  motor-car 
license  instead  of  the  correct  one  —  " 

"  Then,"  went  on  Gertrude,  very  properly  ignoring  me, 
"  we  can  have  the  alderman  of  the  day  sing  the  necessary 
song." 

"  He  may  want  to  sing  an  encore  —  or  kiss  the  bride," 
I  warned  her. 

"  He  won't  want  to  kiss  me  when  I  look  at  him,"  an- 
swered Gertrude  imperturbably.  Nor  will  he !  "  Then," 
she  added,  "  we  can  stop  here  at  your  place  and  pick  up 
your  hand  luggage,  and  mine  on  the  way  to  the  Grand 
Central  Station.  You  can  send  your  trunk  the  day  be- 
fore and  I'll  send  mine.  No  time  lost,  you  see,  no  waste, 
no  foolishness." 

"  Perfect  efficiency,  in  short  —  " 
''  Yes,"  said  Gertrude,  "  you'll  probably  forget  some 
important  detail  in  the  arrangement,   but  there's   time 
enough  to  drill  you  into  it  the  next  three  weeks." 

"  Forget,"  I  repeated,  somewhat  dazedly,  I  admit. 
"  What  is  there  to  forget  —  except  possibly  my  name, 
age  or  color  ?  " 

"You   needn't   worry,"   flashed   Gertrude.     "I'll   re- 


8  THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

member  those  for  you  —  when  you  need  them.  I 
meant,"  she  explained,  "  about  your  trunk  or  railway 
tickets  and  so  on.  But  anyway,  it  doesn't  matter.  I'll 
remind  you  of  everything  the  day  before." 

I  promised  to  tie  a  knot  in  my  handkerchief. 

"  And  may  I  ask,"  I  ventured,  "  where  we  are  going?  " 

"  I  haven't  decided  yet,"  Gertrude  informed  me.  "  I'll 
let  you  know  later,  Ranny  dear." 

There  is  something  very  wholesome  and  complete  about 
Gertrude.  That  is  the  reason,  I  suppose,  I  have  so  long 
been  fond  of  her.  How  she  can  put  up  with  a  dreamer 
like  me  is  more  than  I  can  grasp.  Without  any  pictur- 
esque or  romantic  significance  to  the  phrase,  I  am  a  sort 
of  beach  comber,  sunning  myself  in  her  cloudless  energy 
on  the  indolent  sands  of  life.  Every  one  either  tells  me 
or  implies  that  Gertrude  is  far  too  good  for  me.  Nor 
do  I  doubt  it.  But  I  wish  we  could  go  on  as  we  are  with- 
out exposing  her  to  the  inconvenience  of  being  married 
to  me.  But  Gertrude  knows  best. 

"  Won't  you  stay  and  share  my  humble  crust  this 
evening?  "  I  asked  her  as  she  rose  to  go. 

"  No,  thanks,  Ranny,"  she  smiled,  somewhat  enigmati- 
cally,   I    thought.     "  We    shall    often    dine    together  — 
afterwards." 

"Of  course,"  I  agreed  flippantly.  "  We  may  even 
meet  at  the  races." 

"  I  promised,"  said  Gertrude,  "  to  dine  at  the  Club 
with  Stella  Blackwelder  —  to  settle  some  committee 
matters  before  I  go  away.  Shall  you  be  alone,  poor 
thing?" 

:<  Yes  —  but  that  doesn't  matter.  I  am  often  alone. 
I  prop  up  a  book  against  a  glass  candlestick  and  the 
dinner  is  gone  before  I  am  aware  of  it." 

"  It  might  as  well  be  sawdust,  for  all  you  know," 
laughed  Gertrude, 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE  9 

"  So  it  might,"  I  told  her,  "  except  that  Griselda  can 
do  better  than  sawdust.  I  might,  of  course,"  I  added, 
"  call  up  Dibdin  and  have  him  feast  with*  me." 

"  Your  trampy  friend,"  commented  Gertrude.  "  Yes, 
better  do  it.  I  don't  like  to  think  of  you  so  much  alone." 

"  Now,  that  is  very  sweet  of  you,  my  dear.  I'll  do 
exactly  that." 

Her  cool  lips  touched  mine  for  an  instant  and  she  was 
gone. 


CHAPTER  II 

To  my  shame  I  must  record  that,  once  I  was  alone,  the 
appalling  fact  of  marriage  overwhelmed  me  like  a  land- 
slide. With  a  sense  of  suffocation  and  wild  struggle  I 
longed  to  do  in  earnest  what  I  had  threatened  to  do  in 
jest,  to  run  away,  blindly,  madly,  anywhere,  to  freedom, 
as  far  as  ever  I  could  go. 

When  I  should  have  been  rejoicing,  I  desired,  in  a 
manner,  to  sit  upon  the  ground  and  tell  sad  stories  of 
the  death  of  kings.  I  thought  upon  Lincoln,  a  brave  man 
if  ever  one  there  was,  who  had  paled  before  the  thought 
of  marriage  and  wrote  consoling  letters  to  another  in 
similar  case.  When  I  ought  to  have  been  feeling  at  my 
most  virile,  I  felt  unmanned. 

Yet,  was  I  a  boy  to  be  a  prey  to  these  emotions  ?  At 
twenty-nine  surely  a  man  should  know  his  own  mind  and 
be  in  possession  of  himself.  Never  before  had  I  doubted 
my  way  in  life.  In  a  world  where  every  one  who  has  no 
money  proceeds  with  energy  to  make  it,  and  every  one 
who  has  a  little  tirelessly  labors  to  acquire  more,  I  had 
wittingly  and  of  full  purpose  turned  my  life  away  from 
the  market  place  and  toward  a  studious  devotion  to 
books.  On  my  compact  income  of  less  than  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  monthly  left  me  by  generous  parents, 
I  was  able  to  maintain  my  modest  apartment  in  Twelfth 
Street  and  to  live  a  life,  purposeless  in  the  eyes  of  some, 
no  doubt,  but  which  to  me  is  priceless. 

That  slender  income  and  the  old  Scotchwoman,  Gris- 
elda  Dow,  with  her  Biblical  austerity  and  North  British 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         11 

economy,  surround  my  existence  with  the  comfort  of  a 
cushion.  Because  two  sparrows  sold  for  one  farthing, 
was  to  Griselda  a  reason  and  an  incentive  for  miracles  of 
thrift.  To  change  all  this  in  three  weeks  —  and  I  have 
not  yet  informed  Griselda!  In  a  welter  of  agitation  I 
began  to  pace  the  room. 

Perhaps  I  am  a  fool  to  harbor  such  emotions,  but  I 
confess  that  the  sight  of  my  pleasant  study,  covered  to 
the  ceiling  with  the  books  that  I  love,  and  so  many  of 
which  I  have  gathered,  fills  me  with  a  poignant  melan- 
choly. To  uproot  all  this  or  to  change  it  violently  seems 
like  a  sin  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  commit.  How  had  I 
come  to  think  of  committing  it  ? 

Gertrude  is,  of  course,  a  splendid  girl.  With  all  her 
energy,  she  can  yet  sympathize  with  the  mild  successes 
of  a  poor  bookworm  and  listen  with  patience  to  the  tales 
of  his  triumphs  as  though  he  had  captured  an  army  corps. 
My  first  edition  of  the  "  Religio  Medici  "  can  mean  noth- 
ing to  her,  who  has  never  read  it,  but  she  seemed  glad- 
dened by  my  victory  when  I  acquired  it  under  the  very 
nose  of  a  wily  bookseller. 

When  was  it  that  I  had  first  asked  Gertrude  to  marry 
me?  It  is  odd  that  I  cannot  remember,  for  our  friend- 
ship could  have  continued  on  the  same  pleasant  basis  for 
the  rest  of  our  lives. 

I  was  dining  alone  with  her  one  evening  at  her  apart- 
ment in  Gramercy  Park,  I  remember,  and  there  was 
sparkling  Moselle.  I  am  not  one  of  your  experienced 
topers,  and  that  sparkling  Moselle  entered  my  blood  like 
a  Caxton  in  a  Zaehnsdorf  binding  or  a  First  Folio  of 
Shakespeare.  A  golden  haze  had  seemed  to  emanate 
from  every  object  in  the  region  of  that  Moselle.  Then, 
I  recollect,  Gertrude  and  I  were  on  a  new  plane  of  being. 

We  were  speaking  of  marriage.  Without  being  "  en- 
gaged ",  we  were,  in  Gertrude's  phrase,  talking  of 


12         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  marrying  each  other."  It  was  on  that  evening  I  must 
have  asked  her,  though,  oddly  enough,  I  have  no  recollec- 
tion of  the  fact.  And  now,  it  seems,  three  pleasant  years 
have  passed  and  the  time  has  come. 

Again  it  occurred  to  me  abruptly  that  I  had  not  yet 
informed  Griselda. 

What  if  Gertrude  should  insist  upon  my  removing  my- 
self to  her  apartment;  would  she  accept  Griselda?  And 
how  would  my  precious  books  be  domiciled  ?  How  hu- 
man they  are,  those  books,  even  though  silent!  Always 
I  have  found  them  waiting  whenever  I  returned  from 
journeys,  from  summer  visits,  from  the  country,  from 
anywhere.  Their  backs  and  bindings  seem  to  shimmer 
and  flash  forth  a  stately  greeting,  to  exhale  that  subtle 
fragrance  oi  leather,  ink,  and  paper  that  none  but  book- 
lovers  know.  They  have  developed  a  sense  in  me  to  per- 
ceive these  things  as  no  one  else  can  perceive  them.  How 
delightful  it  has  been  to  find  them  in  their  peaceful 
legions,  arrayed  and  changeless,  retaining  the  very  marks 
and  slips  I  have  left  in  them,  faithful  servitors  and 
friends ! 

I  take  down  the  "  Antigone  "  in  the  Cambridge  Sopho- 
cles that  faces  me  as  I  stand  and  open  at  random  to  the 
chorus :  "  Love,  invincible  love !  who  makest  havoc  of 
wealth,  who  keepest  vigil  on  the  soft  cheek  of  the 
maiden ;  —  no  immortal  can  escape  thee,  nor  any  among 
men  whose  life  is  for  a  day;  and  he  to  whom  thou  hast 
come  is  mad."  It  is  clear  that  Sophocles  was  no  modern. 

Ah,  me !  I  must  tell  Griselda  at  once,  lest  her  Scotch 
probity  should  charge  me  with  disingenuousness  or 
evasion.  I  pressed  a  bell.  I  could  not  face  Griselda  in 
the  kitchen  which  is  her  stronghold.  I  must  summon 
her  to  mine. 

Griselda,  with  a  heather-blue  cap  awry  on  her  coarse 
gray  hair,  appeared  at  the  door. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         13 

"  You  called  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes,  Griselda,  I  called.  Come  in ;  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you." 

Griselda  has  known  me  since  I  was  seven  and  all  my 
gravity  counts  for  ever  so  little  with  her.  So  redolent 
is  she  of  rich  encrusted  personality  that  she  gives  to  my 
poor  small  apartment  the  air  of  an  establishment. 

"  You  always  call  me,  Mr.  Randolph,"  she  somewhat 
testily  informed  me,  "  just  when  I  have  my  hands  in  the 
dough  pan  or  when  the  pot  is  boiling  over." 

"  Which  is  it  now  ?  "  I  asked  her,  laughing  somewhat 
ruefully. 

"  Both,"  was  her  laconic  answer. 

"  Hurry  back  then,"  I  told  her.  "  What  I  wanted  to 
say  will  keep." 

"  Just  like  a  man,"  muttered  Griselda  and  left  me  with- 
out ceremony. 

The  relief  I  felt  was  shameful.  To  face  Griselda  with 
news  of  a  possible  derangement  of  our  lives  required  a 
courage,  a  girding  up  of  one's  resolution  to  which  at  the 
moment  I  felt  myself  woefully  unequal. 

There  was  Dibdin  and  his  blessed  archeological  ex- 
pedition. He  had  told  me  that  there  might  be  a  berth 
for  me  as  a  sort  of  keeper  of  records  and  archives.  If 
only  he  had  started  last  week.  In  a  mist  of  vision 
well  known  to  daydreamers,  I  suddenly  saw  the  trim 
shipshape  steamer  with  holystoned  decks,  the  glinting 
metal  work,  the  opulent  South-Pacific  sun  pouring  down 
on  lightly  clad  passengers  lounging  in  deck  chairs; 
girls  in  white  lazily  flirting  with  indolent  men.  What 
oceans  of  joy  and  ease  were  to  be  found  in  the  world 
for  those  who  knew  how  to  take  them ! 

Ah,  well !  Gertrude  would  make  no  opposition  to  my 
going,  since  absolute  individual  liberty  is  the  very  key- 
stone in  the  arch  of  our  coming  marriage. 


14         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

I  decided  to  ring  up  Dibdin. 

"  Our  line  is  out  of  order,"  the  switchboard  below  in- 
formed me.  "  They'll  have  a  man  up  here  as  soon  as 
possible." 

Frustration!  I  did  not  wish  the  colored  door  boy 
below  to  hear  what  I  said.  He  has  a  notion  of  my 
dignity. 

With  a  restless  agitation  new  to  me  I  again  fell  to 
pacing  the  room,  a  room  not  contrived  for  exercise. 
It  occurred  to  me  that  I  must  go  to  see  my  sister, 
my  only  near  relative.  She  was  sure  to  be  at  home,  for 
she,  poor  girl,  is  always  at  home,  —  what  with  her  three 
children  and  her  broken  health. 

If  it  were  not  that  the  damnable  telephone  is  out  of 
order,  I  would  ring  her  up  immediately.  What  with  her 
three  young  children  and  an  income  the  exact  equivalent 
of  my  own,  she  has  little  diversion  unless  I  take  her  to 
the  theater  or  the  opera.  How  does  the  poor  girl  man- 
age, I  wonder?  I  dread  to  ask  her  and  she  never  com- 
plains, I  ought  to  see  her  oftener;  if  only  she  lived 
nearer  than  the  depths  of  Brooklyn. 

There  is  the  result  of  romantic  marriage  for  you! 
Poor  Laura  committed  the  error  of  falling  in  love  with 
a  man  on  a  steamer  when  she  was  barely  nineteen  and 
marrying  him  secretly;  after  seven  years  and  three 
babies,  the  scounduel  Pendleton,  with  his  smooth  ways 
and  unsteady  eye,  deserted  her,  disappeared  into  the  blue. 
The  poor  girl's  health  has  never  been  good  since  then. 

It  is  irritating  to  think  that  I  might  have  done  more 
than  an  occasional  gift  for  Laura  and  the  children.  But 
I  am  so  wretchedly  poor  myself. 

I  still  cannot  comprehend  how  Laura  could  have  been 
so  inconceivably  foolish  as  to  marry  that  ruffian  Pendle- 
ton before  she  had  known  him  three  months — and  then 
to  acquire  three  babies ! 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         15 

Gertrude,  at  all  events,  could  not  be  guilty  of  anything 
so  perverse. 

Marriage  —  children  —  chains  —  slavery  —  how  sor- 
did it  all  is  and  how  disturbing!  Good  enough  perhaps 
for  the  hopeless  middle  class,  semi-animal  types,  who  have 
nothing  else  to  expect  of  life,  or  to  absorb  them.  But  for 
folk  with  ambitions  and  ideals! 

What  are  my  ambitions  and  ideals,  I  cannot  at  times 
help  wondering?  Useless  to  analyze.  Freedom  to  have 
them  is  the  first  of  all. 

How  eager  I  used  to  be  to  discuss  them  with  Laura 
during  those  long  summers  at  our  cottage  in  Westchester 
when  life  seemed  endless  and  the  future  infinite.  Be- 
tween sets  at  tennis  I  poured  out  to  her  the  things  I 
was  going  to  do  in  the  world.  Laura  is.  only  two  years 
older  than  I,  but  how  well  she  had  understood  and  how 
sympathetic  she  was !  It  was  the  motherhood  within 
her,  I  suppose,  that  drove  her  to  the  marriage  and  the 
kiddies. 

The  scent  of  those  summers  comes  to  my  nostrils  now, 
the  fragrance  of  lilac  and  honeysuckle,  that  brought  ideas 
to  one's  head,  dreams  of  achievement,  of  perfection  and 
happiness.  Who  has  that  cottage  now,  I  wonder?  Poor 
Laura's  dreams  have  been  distorted  into  a  very  dismal 
sort  of  reality.  And  what  of  my  own?  But  here  is 
Griselda  and  she  is  announcing  Dibdin. 

That  grizzled  priest  of  what  he  is  pleased  to  call  science 
growled  in  a  way  he  meant  to  be  pleasant  as  he  shouldered 
into  my  comfortable  study  and  sank  sprawling  into  my 
best  chair.  He  never  seems  quite  at  home  in  a  civilized 
room. 

"  Couldn't  get  you  on  the  telephone,"  he  remarked. 
"  Thought  I'd  drop  over  and  see  what  iniquities  you're 
up  to." 


16         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  As  you  see,"  I  told  him,  "  I'm  deep  in  crime." 

"  Will  you  feed  me  ?  "  he  demanded  with  a  gruff  ness 
that  is  part  of  his  charm. 

"  Certainly.  What  else  can  I  do  when  you  come  at 
this  hour?" 

"All  right;  then  I'll  listen  to  you,"  he  said. 

"  But  how,"  I  wondered,  "do  you  know  I  want  to  say 
anything?" 

"  You  look  charged  to  the  nozzle,"  he  answered  ele- 
gantly. "  What  is  it  —  a  rare  edition  of  somebody  or 
other  ?  "  Amazing  devil,  Dibdin.  I  always  resent  his 
ability  to  read  me  in  this  manner.  But  he  tells  me  that  in 
his  archeological  expeditions  he  has  had  so  often  to  watch 
faces  of  Indians,  Chinese,  negroes,  Turks  and  others 
whose  language  he  did  not  speak,  that  to  see  the  desires 
of  men  in  their  eyes  amounts  with  him  to  an  added  sense. 

"  Well,  if  you  must  know,"  I  sat  down  facing  him, 
"  I  am  nonplussed,  baffled,  perplexed,  at  sea,  on  the  horns 
of  a  dilemma  —  all  of  those  things.  I  am  to  be  married 
in  three  weeks." 

"  Eager  swain ! "  was  his  only  comment. 

"  Is  that  all  you  can  say  ?  " 

"  Well,  feeling  about  it  the  way  you  seem  to  feel,  I 
might  add  that  you're  a  damn  fool." 

"  Tell  me  something  novel !  "  I  retorted  irritably. 

"  Can't,"  he  said.    "  That's  the  only  thing  I  know." 

"  Comprehensive,"  I  sneered. 

"  Complete,"  was  his  succinct  rejoinder. 

"  What  a  comfort  you  are !  "  I  cried  with  a  harassed 
laugh. 

"  What  the  devil  made  you  get  into  it  ?  "  he  growled. 

"Fate,"   I  told  him. 

"  It's  a  poor  fate  that  doesn't  work  both  ways,"  he 
observed. 

"  I  suppose  I  sound  to  you  like  either  a  brute  or  a  cad 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         17 

or  both,"  I  pursued.  "  But  the  fact  is,  Dibdin,  I  am 
not  a  marrying  man.  The  girl  in  question  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  She's  an  admirable,  a  splendid  girl,  far 
too  good  for  the  likes  of  me.  But  I  simply  hate  the 
thought  of  marriage  —  of  owing  duties  to  anybody.  I 
want  to  be  free  to  do  absolutely  as  I  please,  to  go  off 
with  you  to  the  Solomon  Islands,  or  China  or  Popocate- 
petl if  I  want  to,  or  to  run  after  some  first  edition  if  I 
feel  inclined.  In  short,  I  don't  want  to  bother  about 
wives  or  children  or  whooping  cough  or  measles,  or 
have  them  bother  about  me.  Would  you  call  that 
selfish?" 

"  Damnably,"   said   Dibdin  without  emotion. 

"  Well,  then,  that  is  what  I  am,"  I  retorted  warmly, 
"  and  it  is  no  use  trying  to  change.  It  takes  myriad 
kinds  to  make  a  world.  I  am  one  kind  —  that  kind." 

"  No,"  said  Dibdin  gravely,  "no  —  I  think  you're 
some  other  kind." 

:t  This  eternal,  beautiful,  boundless  freedom,"  I  went 
on,  ignoring  him  —  "  surely  it  is  good  that  some  mortals 
should  have  it,  Dibdin  —  and  I  am  losing  it." 

"Three  weeks  off,  did  you  say — =the  obsequies?"  he 
queried. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  sadly. 

"  Then  maybe  it  won't  happen,"  he  remarked  to  the 
ceiling. 

"  What  makes  you  say  that  ?  "  I  caught  him  up. 

"  Don't  know,"  he  replied  in  his  carefully  lazy  tone 
that  he  assumed  when  he  wished  to  sound  oracular. 
"  Just  a  feeling  —  that  you  deserve  something,  a  good 
deal  —  worse  than  marriage."  Then  abruptly  sitting  up 
in  his  chair  and  pulling  a  thin  volume  out  of  his  pocket, 
"  Look  at  this,"  he  muttered. 

I  took  the  vellum-bound  book  and  opened  it. 

"  An  Elzevir  '  Horace  ' !  "  I  exclaimed.     "  Where  did 


18         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

you  get  it  ?  "    All  the  rest  of  the  world  and  all  my  cares 
thinned  to  insignificance  before  this  treasure. 

"  A  plutocratic  book  collector  living  in  a  mausoleum 
on  Fifth  Avenue  has  just  given  it  to  me,"  he  replied. 
"  It's  a  duplicate.  He  has  another  and  a  better  one  of 
the  same  date.  D'you  value  it  any  at  all  ?  " 

"  Value  it !  "  I  cried,  as  my  fingers  caressed  it.  "  Why, 
certainly  I  value  it.  It  is  a  perfectly  genuine  Elzevir  — 
the  great  Louis  himself  printed  this  at  Leyden.  It  is  not 
what  you  would  call  a  tall  copy,  and  binders  have  sacri- 
legiously spoiled  an  originally  fine  broad  margin.  It's  not 
perfect.  But  it's  a  splendid  specimen  of  early  printing, 
with  title  page  and  colophon  intact.  It's  a  beauty !  " 

"  You  beat  the  devil,"  murmured  Dibdin  in  his  beard. 
r<  You  can  be  enthusiastic  about  some  things,  that's  clear. 
Anyway,  the  book  is  yours,"  he  concluded.  "  I  have  no 
use  for  it." 

"  You  don't  mean  it ! "  I  exulted  incredulously.  "  I 
am  simply  delighted,  Dibdin,  tickled  pink,  as  you  would 
say !  I  have  long  wanted  the  Elzevir  '  Horace.'  I  haven't 
a  single  Elzevir  to  compare  with  this.  Think  of  this  com- 
ing out  of  the  blue !  "  And  in  my  foolish  way  I  fell  to 
gloating  over  the  thin,  musty  little  volume,  examining- 
the  worm  drills,  holding  it  up  to  the  light  for  watermarks 
in  the  gray  paper  and,  in  general,  I  suppose,  behaving  like 
an  imbecile. 

"  Illustrates  my  point,"  muttered  Dibdin,  fumbling 
with  a  malodorous  corn  cob  and  a  tobacco  pouch. 

"  Point  ?  What  point  ?  "  I  looked  up  at  him  abstract- 
edly. 

"  Out  of  the  blue  —  this  book  you  say  you  yearned 
for  —  anything  may  happen." 

"  And  you  call  yourself  a  scientist,"  I  marveled,  lean- 
ing back  in  the  chair.  "  Things  like  this  happen  —  yes. 
But  in  the  serious  business  of  life  you're  ground  between 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         19 

the  millstones  of  the  gods  —  a  victim  of  events  you  can- 
not control.  Look  at  Rabelais  and  Montaigne,  two  free 
spirits  if  ever  there  were  any.  Yet  one  was  a  victim  of 
priestcraft  so  that  he  cried  out  until  he  roared  with  or- 
giastic laughter,  and  the  other  a  victim  of  property,  — 
took  a  wife  that  disgusted  him.  (I  have  beautiful  edi- 
tions of  both  of  them,  by  the  way,  which  you  ought  to 
look  at.)  But  each  of  them  was  a  victim." 

"  A  victim  if  you're  victimized."  Dibdin  puffed  at 
his  foul  pipe.  (I  cannot  make  him  smoke  a  decent 
cigarette.)  "  But  if  you  know  how  to  play  with  circum- 
stances, you  use  them  as  I  saw  a  cowboy  in  Arizona  ride 
a  bucking  broncho.  You  ride  them  till  you  break  them. 
Look  at  me,  my  boy,"  he  went  on,  with  a  grin  of  mingled 
modesty  and  bravado.  "  I  knew  I  was  a  tramp  at  heart. 
But  my  people  would  have  been  broken  with  humiliation 
if  I  had  turned  out  a  '  hobo '  on  their  hands.  So  I  took 
to  ruins  and  buried  cities  in  out-of-the-way  places,  and 
politely  speaking  I'm  an  archeologist.  But  I  tcamp  about 
the  world  to  my  heart's  content." 

That,  I  admit,  presented  Dibdin  and  the  whole  mat- 
ter in  a  new  light  to  me. 

"  Why,"  I  finally  asked,  "  didn't  I  do  that?  " 

"  Because  you're  not  a  tramp  at  heart,"  puffed  Dibdin. 

"  Yes,  I  am !  "  I  almost  shouted  at  him.  "  That  is  ex- 
actly what  I  must  be,  since  I  have  such  a  horror  of  home, 
of  domesticity." 

"  You  with  all  this  comfort  —  a  flat,  a  housekeeper, 
all  the  truck  in  this  room?  No,  no,  my  boy!  You're 
cast  for  something  else.  Hanged  if  I  know  for  what, 
though.  These  things  are  too  deep  to  generalize  about. 
Time  will  tell." 

I  rose  and  circled  the  room,  inanely  surveying  "this 
comfort  "  that  seems  to  offend  Dibdin,  though  he  likes 
well  enough  to  sprawl  in  my  best  arm-chair.  The  books, 


20         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

the  rugs,  the  fire,  the  alluring  chairs,  the  happy  hours 
that  I  have  spent  here  seemed  to  crowd  about  me  like 
the  ghosts  of  familiars,  praying  to  be  not  driven  from 
their  haunts. 

"  Then  why  the  devil,"  I  demanded  accusingly,  pausing 
before  him,  "  did  you  encourage  me  and  praise  my  little 
papers  and  bits  of  work  in  college  when  you  were  teach- 
ing me?  " 

"  Trying  to  teach  you,"  he  corrected  placidly.  "  You've 
never  been  a  teacher  in  a  large  fashionable  college,  my 
boy.  When  most  of  your  so-called  students  are  taking 
your  course  because  it  is  reported  to  be  a  snap,  so  they 
can  spend  their  evenings  at  billiards,  musical  comedies, 
or  the  like,  any  young  devil  with  a  ray  of  intellectual 
interest  becomes  the  teacher's  golden-haired  boy.  Even 
teachers  are  human.  You'll  admit  you  haven't  set  even 
so  much  as  your  own  ink-well  on  fire  as  yet." 

"  All  that  is  beside  the  point,"  I  returned  irritably. 
"  Here  I  am  in  the  devil  of  a  fix  and  you  are  talking  like 
Job's  comforters." 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  "  I  suppose  I  am.  But  in  the  end 
it  was  not  the  comforters  but  events  that  pulled  Job  up. 
Await  events  with  resignation  and  expectancy,  Randolph, 
my  lad,  and  play  the  game.  Stake  your  coin  and  wait 
until  the  wheel  stops  and  see  what  happens." 

"  A  fine  teacher  you  are ! "  I  laughed  at  him,  albeit 
mirthlessly. 

"  No  good  at  all,"  he  assented  cheerfully,  knocking  his 
pipe  against  the  ash  tray  and  pocketing  the  noisome 
thing.  "  And  didn't  I  chuck  teaching  the  minute  events 
made  it  possible?  Events,  my  boy;  they  are  the  teacher 
and  the  deities  to  tie  to.  Set  up  a  little  altar  to  the  great 
god  Event  —  right  here  in  your  perfumed  little  temple. 
That's  what  I  should  do,"  he  concluded,  muttering 
into  his  beard. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         21 

"  Incidentally,"  he  added,  "  I'm  getting  extraordinar- 
ily hungry." 

"  Oh,  sorry,"  I  murmured.  "  Glad  you're  here  to  eat 
with  me,  anyway.  It  enables  me  to  put  off  breaking  the 
news  of  my  coming  marriage  to  Griselda." 

"  What  —  you  haven't  told  her  yet  ?  "  shouted  Dibdin, 
sitting  up  in  his  chair.  "  That  fine,  upright  Highland 
lassie?  Then  you're  no  disciple  of  mine!  Face  things 
with  courage  and  face  'em  fairly,  Randolph.  Go  and 
tell  her  now!  I'll  wait  here  with  my  highly  moral  sup- 
port." 

"I  —  I  can't,"  I  blurted  miserably. 

"  Yes,  you  can,"  he  insisted  with  obstinacy.  "  Go  and 
do  it  now." 

With  a  gesture  of  desperation  I  pressed  the  bell. 

"  If  I  am  going  to  tell  her  anything,"  I  mumbled  be- 
tween my  teeth,  "  I'll  say  it  right  here."  Dibdin  laughed 
ghoulishly. 

"This  cowardice  —  this  shrinking  from  life,"  he  phi- 
losophized detestably  —  "  that's  what  our  kind  of  edu- 
cation brings  about." 

Griselda  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  You  rang,  Mr.  Randolph." 

"  Yes  —  er  —  yes,  Griselda,"  and  I  felt  myself  idioti- 
cally hot  and  flushed.  "  I  wanted  to  say  —  "  and  beads 
of  perspiration  prickled  my  forehead.  Then  in  despera- 
tion, I  stammered  out, 

"  Mr.  Dibdin,  Griselda  —  he  is  dining  here  to-night  — 
that's  all,  Griselda!" 

Dibdin's  laugh  rattled  throatily  in  the  room.  How  I 
hated  him  at  that  moment!  Griselda  swept  us  with  an 
impenetrable  glance. 

"  There  is  a  place  laid  for  him,"  she  uttered  in  the 
tone  of  one  whose  patience  is  a  sternly  acquired  virtue. 
And  she  left  us. 


22         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Better  strip,  my  lad,"  chuckled  Dibdin,  "  and  put 
on  your  wrestling  trunks." 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  "  I  demanded  sulkily. 

"  The  tussle  that  life  is  going  to  give  you  will  be  a 
caution." 

"A  lot  you  know  about  life! " 

"  Not  much,  that's  a  fact,"  Dibdin  observed  more 
soberly.  "  But  I've  had  to  face  some  things,  Randolph. 
I've  had  to  grin  at  a  lot  of  greasy  Arabs  in  the  desert 
who  thought  they  would  hold  me  for  ransom.  I've  had 
to  laugh  out  of  their  dull  ambition  a  pack  of  villainous 
Chinese  thugs  in  Gobi,  who  felt  it  would  profit  them  to 
cut  my  throat.  I've  had  to  make  my  way  alone  through 
a  jungle  in  Central  America  for  days  when  the  beastly 
natives  absconded  with  the  supplies  and  left  me  in  the 
middle  of  a  job  of  excavation.  I've  had  other  little  epi- 
sodes. But  never,  son,  I  may  say  truthfully,  have  I 
shown  such  blue  funk  as  you  did  just  then  before  the 
patient  Griselda." 

"  Rot !  "  was  my  only  answer.   "  Let's  go  in  to  dinner." 

It  is  after  ten.  Old  Dibdin  is  gone  and  I  have  been 
putting  down  these  foolish  notes. 

It  must  be  by  some  odd  law  of  balance  or  compensa- 
tion, I  suppose,  that  those  whose  lives  are  least  impor- 
tant keep  the  fullest  record  of  them.  It  is  a  weakness  of 
mine  to  wish  to  read  in  the  future  the  things  I  failed  to 
do  in  the  past.  It  is  really  for  you,  O  Randolph  Byrd, 
aged  seventy,  that  I  am  writing  these  notes. 

If  only  Gertrude  had  made  up  her  masterful  mind  to 
three  months  hence,  instead  of  three  weeks,  I  should 
have  taken  my  last  fling  and  gone  by  the  next  boat  to 
Italy. 

Biagi,  that  courteous  scholar  and  humanist,  writes  me 
from  the  Laurentian  at  Florence  that  he  has  discovered 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         23 

some  new  material  concerning  Brunette  Latini  —  the 
teacher  of  Dante.  Among  the  few  ambitions  that  I 
dally  with  there  has  always  been  the  one  to  write  a  life 
of  Brunetto,  who  taught  Dante  how  a  man  may  become 
immortal.  I  have  a  fine  copy  of  Ser  Brunette's  works, 
the  "  Tesoro "  and  the  "  Tesoretto ",  and  it  seems  a 
shabby  enough  little  encyclopedia  in  verse  of  knowledge 
now  somewhat  out  of  date.  There  must  have  been,  there- 
fore, something  in  the  man  himself  that  enabled  Dante 
to  attribute  his  own  greatness  to  the  teacher. 

But  I  cannot  go  to  Florence  and  return  in  three 
weeks. 

Gertrude,  I  know,  will  tell  me  I  can  do  it  after  we're 
married.  But  she  will  expect  me  to  "  clean  up  the  job  " 
in  two  weeks. 

There  is  nothing  about  Gertrude  that  terrifies  me  so 
much  as  her  efficiency.  I  shall  never  dare  to  mention  the 
subject  to  her,  and  so  I  shall  never  attempt  it  and  never 
know  the  mystery  of  Dante's  immortality.  It  is  all  one, 
however;  what  have  I  to  do  with  greatness?  No  more 
than  with  marriage. 

Bur-r-r !  The  room  is  cold.  Sparge  ligna  super  foco, 
as  cheerful  old  Horace  advises.  I  have  just  complied  and 
put  another  log  on  the  fire. 

My  nerves  must  be  a  shade  off  color  to-night.  I  could 
have  sworn  a  moment  ago,  as  the  room  grew  chilly,  that 
my  sister  Laura  was  standing  before  me.  It  is  my  guilty 
conscience,  I  suppose.  Too  late  to  call  her  now.  Besides, 
the  telephone  is  no  doubt  still  "  out  of  order."  Poor 
Laura!  I  saw  her,  white  as  death,  with  tears  running 
down  her  drawn  cheeks.  What  things  are  human  nerves 
when  a  bit  unstrung!  I  shall  go  and  see  Laura  to- 
morrow. 

I  have  had  my  conversation  with  Griselda  and  it  came 
off  not  amiss. 


24         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Griselda,"  I  began  carelessly,  after  Dibdin  had  gone, 
"  did  I  mention  to  you  that  I  am  to  be  married  in  three 
weeks  ?  " 

Griselda  is  not  one  to  waste  breath  in  futile  and  flam- 
boyant feminine  exclamations.  She  turned  somewhat 
pale,  I  thought. 

"  You  know  very  well  you  did  not,"  she  answered 
in  level  tones,  polishing  a  spoon  the  while. 

"  Well,  I  meant  to,"  I  told  her  truthfully  enough. 
"Didn't  you  expect  it?" 

"  No,  sir,"  was  her  blunt  reply. 

"  Neither  did  I,"  I  blurted  out  before  I  knew  it. 

A  wry,  unaccustomed  smile  for  a  moment  illumined 
her  dark,  gypsy-like  features. 

'''  You  needn't  tell  me  that,"  she  retorted,  and  I  wonder 
what  she  meant  by  it.  It  is  not  like  her  to  waste  words. 
"  Am  I,"  she  continued,  "  to  take  this  as  notice  to  find 
a  new  place?  " 

"  God  forbid !  "  I  cried  in  horror.  "  Whatever  hap- 
pens, Griselda,  you  remain  with  me  —  let  that  be  un- 
derstood." 

"  And  suppose  Miss  Bayard  shouldn't  want  me  ?  "  she 
demanded  with  quiet  intensity. 

"  Then  she  will  probably  not  want  me,"  I  told  her. 
"  That  question  won't  arise.  Besides,  Griselda,"  I  went 
on,  "  we  haven't  decided  yet  how  we  are  going  to  man- 
age. Miss  Bayard  will  probably  want  to  keep  her  apart- 
ment and  I  mine.  She  would  hardly  wish  to  be  bothered 
with  me  all  the  time." 

"And  you  would  call  that  marriage!"  exclaimed 
Griselda  aghast. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  queried  mildly.  "  I  don't  know  much 
about  it,  Griselda,  but  marriage  is  determined  by  the 
kind  of  license  you  get  at  the  City  Hall  and  what  the 
alderman  says  to  you.  The  leases  of  apartments  have 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         25 

nothing  to  do  with  it,  I'm  quite  sure  —  though  I  might 
inquire." 

Griselda's  face  was  blank  for  a  moment.  Then  on  a 
sudden  she  was  bent  double  in  a  gale  of  wild,  hysterical 
laughter.  Never  have  I  known  her  so  shaken  by  mean- 
ingless cachinnation.  Perhaps  her  own  nerves  are  no 
better  than  mine.  Even  now  I  still  hear  her  rattling 
deeply  from  time  to  time  like  muffled  thunder.  But  I 
don't  care  now.  What  a  relief  to  get  it  over! 

It  is  nearly  bedtime.  Casting  over  the  events  of  the 
day,  I  cannot  but  conclude  that  my  own  will  has  played 
too  small  a  part  in  the  whole  matter. 

I  must  see  Gertrude  to-morrow  in  good  time  and  ac- 
quaint her  with  my  desire  to  run  over  to  Florence  before 
we  are  married  and  look  up  Biagi's  new  material  bearing 
upon  the  blessed  old  heathen,  Brunetto  Latini.  Since 
Gertrude  desires  me  to  be  great  and  famous,  she  cannot 
deny  me  the  opportunity  to  discover  how  a  great  and 
famous  man  accomplished  the  trick.  Besides,  what  has 
been  delayed  three  years  can  surely  support  a  further 
delay  of  three  months. 

But,  good  heavens !  What  is  this  ?  Voices  —  the 
scuffling  of  feet  in  the  hallway  —  what  army  is  invading 
me  at  this  hour !  I  believe  I  hear  children's  voices  —  and 
a  scream  from  Griselda,  who  has  never  screamed  in  her 
life! 


CHAPTER  III 

LAURA  —  my  dear  sister  Laura  —  is  dead!  Her  chil- 
dren are  with  me! 

Without  warning  she  dropped  suddenly  under  her 
burdens  and  with  her  dying  breath  confided  her  children 
to  me  —  me! 

That  one  cataclysmic  fact  has  taken  its  abode  in  my 
brain  and  numbed  it  as  well  as  all  my  nerves  to  a  chill 
and  deadly  paralysis  that  excludes  everything  else.  It 
still  seems  wholly  unbelievable  —  some  nightmare  from 
which  I  shall  awake  with  a  vast  sickly  sort  of  relief  to 
the  old  custom  of  my  tranquil  life. 

The  turbulence  and  the  pain  of  the  last  three  days, 
however,  are  still  lashing  about  me  like  the  angry  waves 
after  a  tempest,  in  a  manner  too  realistic  for  any  dream. 
I  am  broad  awake  now,  I  know,  and  for  hours  I  have 
been  blankly  staring  into  a  very  abyss  of  darkness. 

What  will  happen  or  what  I  shall  do  next,  I  haven't 
the  shadow  of  an  idea. 

Laura  is  dead  and  her  children  are  with  me,  and  I  am 
their  guardian  and  sole  reliance.  Who  could  have  fore- 
cast such  a  fate  or  such  a  role  for  me  ?  Three  days !  It 
is  incredible !  Only  three  days  ago,  I  was  languidly  pro- 
testing because  I  could  not  take  ship  forthwith  for  Italy 
to  examine  some  manuscript  at  the  Laurentian  in  Flor- 
ence! 

No,  by  heavens !  It  was  not  I.  It  was  some  one  else 
—  some  one  I  knew  vaguely,  in  a  past  age,  a  man  to  be 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         27 

envied,  serene  and  cheerful,  blest  of  life,  whom  I  shall 
never  meet  again. 

The  last  three  days!  I  cannot  banish  them  and  yet  I 
cannot  meet  the  memory  o.f  them.  Was  it  I  who  faced 
the  tragedy,  or  was  it  some  one  else  ?  Nothing  surely  is 
more  tragic  than  a  young  mother's  death  —  and  that 
young  mother  my  own  sister!  Who  was  it  that  stonily 
passed  through  the  ordeal  of  the  "  arrangements  "  and 
the  black  pantomime  of  the  sepulture?  I  cannot  record 
it  even  for  myself,  for  never,  I  know,  shall  I  desire  to 
be  reminded  of  it.  At  the  death  of  my  mother,  I  still 
had  Laura  with  her  practical  woman's  sense.  But  now 
I  was  alone.  I  say  now  because  however  remote  it 
seems,  this  tragedy  will  always  be  present.  My  life 
must  forever  remain  under  its  stupefying  spell. 

It  is  not  credible  that  only  three  days  ago  I  sat  here  in 
my  study  revolving  trifles,  those  many  shining  trifles 
that  went  to  make  up  my  former  life. 

Three  days  ago  the  silence  of  this  house  was  disturbed 
by  the  voices  of  children,  the  clatter  of  their  feet,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  heard  Griselda  scream. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Randolph,"  she  rushed  in,  sobbing,  with 
the  dry  tearless  sobs  of  those  much  acquainted  with 
grief,  "  Miss  Laura  —  she  —  the  children  are  here !  " 

I  knew.  Though  inwardly  I  sank  all  but  lifeless 
under  the  blow,  I  knew  clearly  that  Laura  was  dead. 

"  Is  she  very  ill  ? "  I  heard  myself  asking  faintly, 
with  a  clutching  desire  to  shrink  still  from  the  appalling 
truth. 

"  She  —  oh,  Mr.  Randolph,"  she  lamented,  "  don't 
you  understand  —  ye  know  very  well !  "  she  suddenly 
added  with  a  harshness  that  surprised  me.  "  We  shall 
have  to  put  the  children  to  bed  in  your  bedroom." 

It  was  as  though  she  had  suddenly  revolted  at  the 
softness  of  the  atmosphere  in  my  environment,  at  any 


28         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

artificiality  or  evasion.  She  seemed  abruptly  determined 
to  face  the  stark  facts  in  the  open. 

"  The  girl  will  sleep  with  me,"  she  concluded  tone- 
lessly  and  turned  to  go. 

"Which  girl?"   I  queried  dazedly. 

"  Her  that  brought  the  bairns,"  she  replied  and  left 
me. 

"  Send  her  in  here  — r  I  want  to  speak  to  her !  "  I 
shouted  after  Griselda.  I  could  not  face  the  thought 
of  going  out  there.  I  was  held  to  my  chair  by  a  sheer 
pitiful  lack  of  courage  to  move  into  the  dreadful  gulf 
before  me. 

I  closed  my  eyes  and  endeavored  to  still  the  tumult  in 
my  brain  into  silence.  I  wanted  to  think.  But  only 
those  can  achieve  silence  who  do  not  need  it.  I  could 
not.  I  opened  my  eyes. 

A  thin  little  girl  of  perhaps  twelve  or  thirteen  stood 
before  me.  This  surely  could  not  be  the  girl  Griselda 
had  referred  to  in  charge  of  the  children.  She  was  her- 
self a  child.  Were  my  disordered  senses  tricking  me? 
I  experienced  the  thrill  Poe's  hero  must  have  felt  at  sight 
of  the  raven  on  the  bust  of  Pallas. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  I  whispered. 

"  I  am  Alicia,  sir,"  she  answered  with  large,  fright- 
ened gray  eyes  fastened  upon  mine. 

"What  —  what  is  it?"   I  stammered. 

"  The  lady  said  you  wanted  to  see  me." 

"  Did  you  bring  the  children  ?  "  I  breathed,  incredulous. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

I  was  awestruck.  Her  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  a  child 
yet  they  were  filled  with  sorrow  and  a  searching  fear  old 
as  the  world. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  "  I  could  not  help  asking,  with  an 
irrelevance  foolish  enough  in  the  circumstances. 

"  Going  on  fourteen,  sir." 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOF         29 

"  And  you  —  you  are  the  nurse  ?  " 

"  I  helped  Mrs.  Pendleton  with  the  children  before 
school  and  after  school,"  she  answered  with  more  as- 
surance now,  but  still  uneasy.  "  I  am  a  mother's  helper, 
sir."  There  was  no  mirth  in  my  soul,  but  the  muscles 
contorted  my  features  into  a  sickly  grin. 

"  I  see,"  I  murmured  mendaciously.  But  I  saw  only 
my  own  confused  turpitude  at  my  blindness  and  neglect 
in  face  of  the  shifts  and  needs  poor  Laura  had  been  com- 
pelled to  suffer. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from?  "  I  inquired  with  a  dry 
throat,  ashamed  to  ask  anything  of  importance. 

"  From  —  the  Home  for  —  Dependent  Children  —  in 
Sullivan  County,"  she  murmured  hesitatingly,  with  a 
tinge  of  color  in  her  cheeks.  On  a  sudden  I  saw  her  pale 
lips  tremble  and  guiltily  I  realized  that,  thoughtless,  after 
my  wont,  I  was  subjecting  her  to  an  ordeal  merely  be- 
cause I  was  in  torment. 

"  Sit  down,"  I  forced  myself  to  speak  evenly,  "  and 
tell  me  exactly  what  happened." 

She  sidled  to  the  big  chair,  her  gaze  still  fixed  upon 
me,  as  though  to  watch  me  was  henceforth  her  first  anxi- 
ety. She  gripped  the  arm  of  the  chair  and  hung  unde- 
cided for  a  moment  as  though  fearful  of  making  herself 
so  much  at  home  as  to  sit  down  in  this  room. 

"  Sit  down,"  I  reiterated  more  encouragingly,  "  and 
tell  me  what  happened  to  my  sister." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  murmured  obediently,  perching  on  the 
edge  of  the  great  chair.  "  Well,"  she  began,  "  when  I 
came  home  from  school  in  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Pendleton 
was  lying  down.  The  children  were  hanging  about  her 
bed  and  she  looked  very  pale." 

:<  Yes,  yes,"  I  urged  her  on  impatiently. 
*  Then  I  took  them  downstairs  and  gave  them  their 
bread  and  milk  and  tried  to  read  to  them  so  as  to  keep 


30         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

them  quiet.  But  only  the  littlest  one,  Jimmie,  wanted 
to  listen.  Randolph  and  Laura  wanted  to  play  Kings  and 
Queens."  I  realized  that  I  must  hear  the  story  in  the 
girl's  own  way. 

"  Then,"  she  continued,  with  an  effort  at  exactitude, 
"  I  thought  that  Jimmie  and  I  had  better  join  them,  be- 
cause then  I  could  keep  them  from  making  so  much  noise. 
We  played  until  supper  time.  But  Mrs.  Pendleton  didn't 
feel  well  enough  to  come  down.  So  the  children  and  I 
had  supper  downstairs  and  Hattie  —  that's  the  cook  — 
took  Mrs.  Pendleton's  supper  up  on  a  tray." 

That  must  have  been  while  I  was  lamenting  to  Dibdin 
over  the  hardness  of  my  lot. 

"  Then  what  happened  ?  "  I  muttered,  turning  away 
from  her  gaze. 

"  I  went  up  to  see  if  Mrs.  Pendleton  wanted  any- 
thing," she  resumed  nervously,  frightened  by  my  move- 
ment, "  and  she  said  no,  but  that  she'd  get  up  later  when 
it  was  time  for  them  to  go  to  bed.  So  I  helped  them 
with  their  lessons  until  bedtime  and  Mrs.  Pendleton  came 
down.  She  said  she  felt  a  little  better,  but  she  looked 
very  sad  and  white.  And  when  she  began  to  walk  up 
the  stairs  — "  her  lips  grew  tremulous  again  and  the 
tears  dashed  out  of  her  eyes,  but  she  finally  controlled 
herself  bravely. 

"  —  She  fell  —  and  —  "  she  began  to  weep  bitterly, 
"  she  just  said,  *  The  children  —  my  brother  —  tele- 
phone — '  and  that  was  all  — •"  and  that  piteous  child 
who  was  no  kindred  to  my  poor  sister  sobbed  con- 
vulsively. 

That  must  have  been  about  the  time  when  I  was  at 
table  with  Dibdin  and,  over  the  sauterne,  complaining  to 
him  of  the  narrowness  of  my  income  in  view  of  the 
lacunae  and  wants  of  my  library. 

"  We   couldn't  —  get    you  —  on   the   telephone,"    she 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         31 

found  breath  to  utter  at  last.  "  So  I  brought  the  children 
here  —  Hattie  told  me  how  to  go  —  Hattie's  over  there 
alone." 

Nothing  in  this  world  can  ever  stab  me  again  as  the 
poignancy  of  her  recital  stabbed  me.  My  life  seemed 
shattered,  irreparable.  All  my  dreams  were  at  an  end. 
Laura  was  gone  and  here  were  her  children  thrust  by 
destiny  upon  my  hands  —  unless  their  scoundrel  of  a 
father  should  ever  return  to  relieve  me  of  them.  I  had 
lived  peacefully  and  harmlessly  in  my  way,  but  for  some 
inscrutable  reason  Fate  had  selected  me  for  her  heaviest 
blow. 

"  Very  well,"  I  told  her  as  kindly  as  I  could  in  the 
conditions,  "  now  you  go  back  to  Griselda  and  go  to  bed. 
I'll  have  to  think  things  out." 

"  Oh  —  but  the  house !  "  exclaimed  the  little  girl  — 
and  never  again  do  I  wish  to  see  such  horror  on  a  child- 
ish countenance  as  at  that  instant  froze  the  features  of 
little  Alicia.  "  All  alone,"  she  added,  her  thin  shoulders 
heaving.  "  Aren't  you  going  over  now,  sir?  " 

"  Now ! "  I  exclaimed,  looking  automatically  at  my 
watch.  "  Why  —  yes  —  in  a  few  minutes,  child." 

"But  —  Hattie  is  there  alone  — "  she  stammered. 
'  There's  nobody  else  —  then  I'd  better  go  back." 

It  was  obvious,  of  course,  that  I  must  go  at  once.  But 
why  should  a  child  see  spontaneously  that  to  which  I  am 
obtuse  ? 

"  Oh,  well,  you  are  right,  of  course  —  I  must  go  im- 
mediately —  I  hadn't  thought  —  I'll  go  over  now  "  — 
and  I  turned  away  from  her,  lifted  the  curtain  and  gazed 
out  into  the  wet,  murky  street  below.  Life  had  collapsed 
and  the  ruins  of  it  were  tumbled  about  my  hot  ears.  I 
hardly  know  how  long  I  stood  there,  completely  oblivious 
of  the  girl  Alicia. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Byrd,"  I  was  startled  to  hear  a  tearful, 


32         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

childish  voice  behind  me  —  "  won't  you  see  the  children 
before  you  go,  sir?  " 

I  wheeled  about  sharply. 

"  The  children  ?  Oh,  yes  -—  no ! "  The  horror  of  the 
situation  fell  about  me  like  an  avalanche  that  had  hung 
suspended  for  a  moment  and  then  crashed  smotheringly 
over  me.  "  No,"  I  whispered  huskily,  "  I  can't  —  not 
now  —  not  now ! "  A  kind  of  chill  darkness  numbed  my 
senses. 

Like  a  pistol  shot  I  suddenly  heard  the  harsh  voice  of 
Griselda  in  the  doorway. 

"  The  cab  is  at  the  door,  Mr.  Randolph.  Don't  for- 
get your  rubbers." 

And  like  an  automaton  galvanized  into  life  I  found 
myself  whirling  to  the  house  of  death. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FOR  a  week  the  children  have  been  with  me  and  noth- 
ing has  yet  been  done  about  them.  Another  week,  I 
think,  will  drive  me  mad  with  indecision. 

I  seem  unable  to  emerge  from  the  shadow  of  mystery 
and  terror  into  which  my  serene  world  has  been  so  sud- 
denly plunged.  The  book-lined  study  is  my  solitary  ref- 
uge ;  and  like  a  schoolgirl  I  can  do  no  more  than  unpack 
my  heart  with  words. 

I  have  seen  Gertrude. 

It  is  astonishing  how  resourceless  are  even  one's  near- 
est and  dearest  friends  in  face  of  anything  really  capital. 

"  Poor  Ranny !  How  ghastly !  "  Gertrude  cried,  when 
she  first  heard  of  it,  wringing  my  hand.  "  But  buck  up, 
dear  boy.  You  know  how  I  feel.  There  is  a  way  out 
for  everything."  She  spoke,  I  thought,  as  though  I  were 
in  need  of  ready  money. 

She  was  here  this  afternoon  to  see  the  children.  Ger- 
trude is  no  hand  with  children.  They  seemed  strangely 
shy  of  her,  a  woman,  though  they  literally  fell  upon  the 
neck  of  growling,  grizzled  old  Dibdin.  They  are  still 
subdued  by  the  suddenness  of  their  tragedy,  though  real 
sorrow  Gertrude  tells  me,  is,  thank  Heaven,  beyond  them. 

"  We'll  have  to  think  up  a  way  of  disposing  of  the 
dear  things,"  she  remarked  briskly.  And  though  I  am 
myself  completely  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  them,  I  can- 
not say  I  relished  her  way  of  putting  it. 

"  What,  for  instance,  could  you  suggest  ?  "  I  inquired 
dully. 


34.         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Schools,  Ranny  dear,  schools,"  she  impatiently  an- 
swered. "  There  are  homelike  places  run  by  splendid 
women  —  just  made  for  such  cases.  Why,  even  the  lit- 
tle one  —  Jimmie,  is  it  ?  —  How  old  is  he ;  four  ?  — 
There  are  places  even  for  kiddies  as  young  as  that." 

A  heavy  confusion,  the  reverse  of  enthusiasm,  op- 
pressed me. 

"  You  forget,  Gertrude,"  I  endeavored  as  gently  as 
possible  to  remind  her,  "  Laura  confided  those  children 
to  me  with  her  dying  breath  —  tome  —  her  only  relative. 
Do  you  think  I  ought  to  fling  them,  out  at  once,  God 
knows  where ! " 

"  Good  Lord,  Ranny !  "  she  cried,  flushing  with  a  smile 
of  anger  peculiar  to  Gertrude  when  she  is  annoyed. 
"  What  a  sentimentalist  you  are  at  bottom  —  after  all !  " 

"A  sentimentalist  —  I?"  I  felt  hurt.  "Just  put 
yourself  in  my  place,  Gertrude,  and  see  how  easy  such 
a  decision  would  be  for  you." 

"  I  do,  Ranny ;  that  is  just  what  I  am  doing,"  she 
insisted  impatiently.  "  But  don't  you  see  that  if  there  is 
any  one  thing  you  cannot  do,  it  is  to  keep  them  here  — 
or  in  my  apartment  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  see  that.  But  I  also  see  that  I  can't 
pitch  them  out  among  total  strangers,  a  week  after  their 
mother's  — "  I  could  not  trust  my  foolish  voice  to  finish. 

"  Do  you  forget,"  demanded  Gertrude  with  her  smile 
that  brands  me  imbecile,  "  do  you  forget,  Ranny,  that  we 
are  to  be  married  in  two  weeks?  " 

"  No,  Gertrude  —  far  from  it.  But  that  is  why  we  are 
discussing  this  problem  —  because  it  is  perplexing.  Be- 
sides, schools  of  the  right  sort  are  bound  to  be  pretty 
expensive  things." 

"  Oh,"  said  Gertrude,  "  of  course.  But  poor  Laura's 
income  ought  to  be  enough  —  " 

"  My  dear  Gertrude,  that  is  what  I  don't  know.     Car- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         35 

michael  is  to  give  me  an  accounting  of  it  to-day  or  to- 
morrow. Laura  never  spoke  of  her  money  matters  to 
me.  But,  as  you  say,  there  will  probably  be  enough. 
Only,  it  isn't  altogether  that  —  you  see,  Gertrude  —  " 
I  flounderai. 

"  Yes,  I  see,  Ranny,  I  see,"  she  hammered  at  me  in  the 
maddening  way  women  have.  "  You  simply  can't  get  up 
enough  will  power  to  do  something.  It's  the  old  story. 
But  you'll  have  to,  my  dear,"  and  she  smiled  sweetly. 
"  You  have  all  my  sympathy  and  all  the  cooperation 
you'll  take.  But  the  one  thing  we  can't  do  is  stand  still. 
You  understand  that  —  don't  you,  Ranny?" 

"  Yes.  I  understand  that.  But  my  brain  is  as  fertile 
of  plans  as  a  glass  door  knob." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Ranny,"  Gertrude  sum- 
marized. "  I  know  all  this  has  been  a  great  shock  to  you. 
I'll  let  you  alone  for  a  couple  of  days  to  turn  things 
over.  And  think  of  what  I've  said.  But  then  we  must 
come  to  some  definite  decision.  I'd  give  anything  if  this 
terrible  thing  had  not  happened  now  —  but  it  can't  be 
helped,  can  it  ?  " 

Now,  that  was  very  sweet  and  reasonable  of  Ger- 
trude. And  it  is  a  thousand  pities  that  she  feels  dis- 
tressed. But  it  would  have  been  ten  thousand  more  if 
poor  Laura  had  died  just  after  we  had  been  married 
instead  of  before.  As  it  is,  the  problem  before  me  is 
largely  mine.  Were  we  now  married,  Gertrude  must 
have  had  to  bear  an  undue  share  of  it. 

Shall  I  ever  win  back  to  the  old  tranquillity  and  the 
peace  that  was  mine?  That  was  the  first  thought  that 
came  to  me  when  I  parted  from  Gertrude,  a  selfish 
thought  as  I  immediately  realized,  in  view  of  what  is 
facing  me.  I  can  no  longer  think  as  I  have  thought  and 
new  feelings  are  struggling  for  birth  within  me,  com- 
mensurate with  the  new  responsibility.  The  world,  as  I 


36        THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

walk  through  it,  seems  to  present  an  aspect  strangely  dif- 
ferent from  what  it  did  a  week  ago.  It  is  so  chill  and 
alien  and  hollow! 

As  I  was  reentering  my  study  I  heard  a  crash  in  the 
dining  room,  which  is  now  the  children's  room,  and 
when  I  glanced  in  upon  them  the  girl  Alicia  was  gather- 
ing up  smithereens  of  glass  and  Ranny,  the  eldest  boy, 
quietly  announced,  "  It  broke  "  in  a  manner  that  so  ob- 
viously gave  him  away,  all  the  others  could  not  help 
laughing;  and  they  laughed  the  louder  when  I  joined 
them.  Confused  and  angry,  the  boy  ran  out  of  the  room. 

It  is  a  world  apart,  the  world  of  children,  into  which 
parents,  I  suppose,  grow  gradually.  Not  being  the  par- 
ent of  these  children,  I  fear  I  shall  never  penetrate  it. 

Sooner  or  later  they  must  be  sent  away,  even  as  Ger- 
trude maintains.  And  I  must  face  that  event  forthwith. 

I  was  interrupted  at  this  point  by  the  irruption  into 
the  room  of  Jimmie,  the  youngest,  inimitably,  grotesquely 
shapeless  in  his  nightgear,  pattering  toward  me  and  tak- 
ing refuge  between  my  knees.  He  was  being  pursued 
by  the  girl  Alicia  who  stood  shyly  and  distressfully  smil- 
ing in  the  doorway,  as  though  all  explanation  were  futile. 

"  Well,  old  boy,  what  is  it  ?  "  I  demanded  with  mock 
severity,  though  in  truth  I  was  more  afraid  of  him  than 
he  evidently  was  of  me. 

"  Iwantsayprayerstoyoulikeamummy,"  he  uttered  in 
one  excited  breath,  as  though  it  were  one  single  word. 

"You  want  what?" 

"  He  says  he  wants  to  say  his  prayers  to  you,  sir," 
spoke  up  the  girl  clearly.  "  I  am  sorry  —  he  broke  away. 
Shall  I  take  him  away,  sir?  " 

"  Wanto  say  my  prayers  to  you  like  to  mummy,"  in- 
sisted Laura's  child,  scrambling  upon  my  knees.  And 
with  a  pang  of  sadness  that  set  all  my  senses  aching  I 
saw  the  picture  of  the  past  —  poor  Laura  with  her  sweet, 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         37 

resigned  face,  living  when  she  lived  only  in  her  children, 
listening  to  the  prayers  of  this  sprite  with  the  silken  sun- 
shine in  his  hair. 

"  All  right,  Jimmie,"  I  murmured  faintly,  as  he  clung 
to  me;  "go  ahead." 

Tightly  clutching  me  about  the  neck  and  nestling  his 
face  against  mine,  he  brought  forth  with  childish  throaty 
sweetness  the  few  words  to  the  creative  Spirit  that  man- 
kind the  world  over,  in  one  form  or  another,  addresses 
as  Our  Father.  "  And  God,"  he  concluded  with  bril- 
liant triumph  in  his  eyes,  "  bless  Mummy  and  Uncle 
Ranny." 

Nothing  that  I  can  remember  has  ever  moved  me  as 
that  child  moved  me.  Like  St.  Catherine  of  Genoa  at 
her  decisive  confessional  I  seemed  to  receive  a  profound 
inner  wound  by  that  child's  act,  tender  and  bitter  and 
sweet,  that  I  never  desire  to  heal.  For  the  moment 
Laura  and  I  were  nearer  to  being  one  than  ever  we  had 
been  in  her  lifetime.  Nevermore  shall  I  forget  the  sweet- 
ness and  fragrance  of  that  little  child  and  his  warm 
nestling  faith  in  me.  And  I  am  planning  to  cast  him  off. 

"  Come,  now,"  interposed  Alicia,  as  though  breaking  a 
spell. 

"  One  more  hug,"  cried  Jimmie,  with  the  arrogance  of 
righteousness.  And  suiting  his  action  to  his  words,  he 
clambered  down  with  engaging  clumsiness  from  my  knees 
and  padded  toward  Alicia.  Once  more  I  was  alone  with 
my  thoughts. 

Can  it  be  that  some  instinct  in  the  child  whose  heart 
is  still  imbedded  in  his  mother's  had  made  him  seek  the 
one  person  who  had  been  nearest  his  mother? 

I  cannot  say,  I  cannot  say. 

Oh,  God  —  and  I  must  send  him  and  the  others, 
Laura's  children,  away,  away  among  strangers! 

There  seems  to  be  no  other  way  out. 


38         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

I  have  been  turning  idly  the  pages  of  books  in  a  way 
bookish  people  have,  seeking  for  inspiration,  for  some 
word  of  guidance.  Brunetto  tells  me  on  the  word  of 
St.  Bernard,  that  tarnished  gold  is  better  than  shining 
copper;  and  that  the  wild  ass  brays  once  every  hour  and 
thus  makes  an  excellent  timepiece  for  his  savage  neigh- 
borhood. But  nothing  of  this  casts  a  glimmer  of  light 
upon  my  dilemma.  Rabelais  keeps  shouting  from  his 
yellow  page,  "  fais  ce  que  voudras"  But  what  is  it  that 
I  desire  to  do? 

Ah,  I  know  what  I  desire  to  do!  There  is  counsel  in 
the  old  books,  after  all. 

I  will  have  in  the  girl  Alicia,  and  see  what  I  can  glean. 
She  was  brought  up  without  kith  or  kin  of  her  own. 
And  though  an  institution  is  more  of  a  machine  than  a 
good  school,  still  those  who  had  the  rearing  of  her  were 
total  strangers.  There  might  be  some  gleam  of  sugges- 
tion in  that. 

Alicia  has  been  here. 

"  Come,  child,  sit  down,"  I  invited  her,  observing  that 
she  still  displayed  a  tendency  to  stand  in  awe  of  me.  "  I 
wish  to  ask  you  some  questions."  But  her  tense  little 
face  was  still  haunted  by  a  vague  fear.  "  It's  about  the 
children,"  I  added,  and  she  seemed  somewhat  more  at 
ease  on  the  edge  of  her  chair. 

"  How  long  were  you  at  that  Home  —  in  Sullivan 
County?"  I  began,  grinning  by  way  of  ingratiating  my- 
self. 

"  Ever  since  I  can  remember,  sir,"  she  answered. 

"  Were  they  kind  to  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"  How  kind  ?  —  What  did  they  do  for  you?  " 

'  They  gave  us  food  and  —  and  medicine  when  we 
were  sick.  And  on  Christmas  we  had  a  tree.  Only  no- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         39 

body  ever  came  to  see  me.     I  always  looked  out  of  the 
window  for  somebody  to  come.     But  no  one  came." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  I  pursued.  "  But  did  they  show 
you  affection  —  sympathy?  " 

Alicia  was  silent. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  "  I  pressed. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  do." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  answer?  " 

"I  —  it's  hard  to  explain,"  and  she  laughed  a  fright- 
ened little  laugh.  "  There  is  no  one  there  to  —  to  do 
those  things  you  said.  There  were  five  hundred  of  us 
there.  If  you're  not  sick  you  just  go  on  like  all  the  rest. 
If  you're  sick  they  give  you  oil  or  something.  Some- 
times a  child  pretends  it's  sick  just  so  the  matron  or  a 
nurse  might  take  it  in  her  lap  and  make  a  fuss  over  it. 
And  some  are  naughty  —  for  the  same  reason." 

I  nodded  gravely,  but  my  heart  was  gripped  by  a 
poignant  aching.  I  saw  Laura's  children  compelled  to 
feign  illness  or  delinquency  in  order  to  receive  a  touch  of 
individual  attention  which,  I  suppose,  every  child  spon- 
taneously craves. 

"  Were  you  glad  to  leave  there  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir !  "  she  answered  eagerly. 

"  Tragic,  my  poor  sister  dying,"  I  said,  half  to  myself. 
"  She  was  a-n  ideal  mother.  Now  —  I  hardly  know  what 
to  do." 

Alicia  leaped  from  her  chair  and  came  yearning  toward 
me.  Her  little  face  tremulous  and  working,  she  cried 
out: 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Byrd,  you.  won't  send  us  away  —  to  a  Home 
—  will  you?  " 

"No,  no!  —  Not  to  a  Home,"  I  replied  defensively. 
"  But  schools  —  there  must  be  good  places  for  chil- 
dren—" 

"  They'd  feel  terribly,"  she  stifled  a  sob.     "  They  love 


40         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

it  so  here  —  Even  here  Laura  cries  for  her  mother  every 
night  — •  and  little  Jimmie  —  " 

"  Never  mind,"  I  took  her  up  hastily,  "  nothing  is  de- 
cided yet,  my  dear  child.  I'm  glad  I  spoke  to  you.  You 
see,"  I  ran  on,  "  there's  so  little  room  here,  and  I  —  I 
know  nothing  about  children  — " 

"  But  there's  nothing  to  do,"  she  protested,  sobbing. 

"Nothing?"  I  smiled  vaguely  in  an  effort  to  cheer 
her  and  laid  my  hand  upon  her  thin  shoulder. 

"  Nothing  except  just  love  them,"  she  said.  "  I'll  take 
care  of  them. —  all  I  can."  How  simple ! 

"  Well,  well,  we  shall  see,"  I  aimed  to  be  reassuring. 

"  Do  I  have  to  go  —  back  to  the  Home  ?  "  she  asked 
brokenly,  with  an  arm  hiding  her  face. 

"  Oh,  no,  certainly  not,"  I  answered  hastily.  "  We'll 
find  a  better  way  than  that.  Now,"  I  added,  "  be  a  good 
girl,  dry  your  eyes;  run  along  and  don't  say  a  word  about 
—  our  conversation." 

"  No,  sir,"  she  murmured  obediently.  And  still  gulp- 
ing, she  left  me. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  girl  Alicia  has  been  of  decisive 
help  to  me ! 

Yet  it  is  equally  obvious  that  I  cannot  keep  the  chil- 
dren here. 

Dibdin  has  been  here  and  he  has  left  me  in  a  state  of 
distraction,  worse  if  possible  than  that  I  had  been  in  be- 
fore. 

The  good  fellow  endeavored  to  be  vastly  and  solidly 
cheering. 

"  All  nonsense,"  he  growled,  "  about  children  being 
hostages  to  fortune.  They  are  the  only  contribution  a 
human  being  really  makes  to  the  world.  All  the  digging 
that  burrowing  animals  such  as  I  do  in  the  four  corners 
of  the  earth,  all  the  fuss  that  fellows  in  laboratories  make 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         41 

over  test  tubes  and  microscopes  and  metals  and  germs,  all 
the  stuff  that  people  sat  up  nights  to  put  into  those 
damned  books  of  yours  —  all  of  that  is  done  for  them  — 
for  the  next  generation  and  the  generations  they  will 
beget." 

"  Eloquent !  "  I  flippantly  mocked  him ;  "  but  how  is  it 
you've  elected  to  be  what  you  call  a  tramp?  " 

"  Elected  ?  "  he  grunted  disdainfully.  "  I  didn't  elect. 
It  elected  me.  Besides,"  he  continued,  lowering  his 
voice,  "  I  would  have  given  it  up  like  a  shot  —  given  up 
anything,  changed  my  life  inside  out,  done  anything  if  I 
had  been  able  to  marry  the  one  woman  I  wanted.  I'm 
one  of  those  strange  beasts  for  whom  there  is  only  one 
woman  in  the  world  —  no  other : 

1  If  heaven  would  make  me  such  another  world 
Of  one  entire  and  perfect  chrysolite, 
I'd  not  have  sold  her  for  it/ 

he  quoted,  and  added  with  a  hoarse  laugh,  "  you  ought 
to  know  your  Othello." 

"  Then  why  on  earth  didn't  you  marry  her?  "  I  could 
not  help  marveling. 

"  Too  late,"  he  murmured,  with  a  whimsical  smiling 
twitch  to  his  head,  that  is  very  engaging.  "  She  was  al- 
ready married  to  somebody  else  when  I  first  saw  her. 
Too  late,"  he  repeated  with  ruminative  sadness.  "  But 
don't  let  us  talk  about  that,"  he  broke  off  abruptly. 
"  Have  the  kids  begun  to  go  to  school  yet?  " 

"What  is  the  use?"  I  answered  him  gloomily.  "I 
haven't  formed  any  plans  for  them  yet." 

"  Plans?  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  inquired,  puzzled. 
Like  the  girl  Alicia  he  seemed  to  think  there  was  nothing 
to  do  that  required  any  thought.  And  I  wondered  if  the 
simple  souls  in  life  are  only  the  improvident  or  the  very 
young. 


42         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Do  you  see  this  place,"  I  demanded  irritably,  "  as  a 
home  for  a  family  with  three  children,  to  say  nothing  of 
a  fourth  in  attendance  upon  them  ?  " 

"  Have  to  have  a  larger  place  —  farther  out  —  of 
course,"  he  answered  glibly,  puffing  at  his  pipe. 

"  And  am  I  a  person  to  take  care  of  and  bring  up  three 
or  four  children  ?  " 

"  Why  the  devil  not  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"Why  the  devil  yes?"  I  retorted  fiercely.  "What 
do  I  know  about  children?  What  experience  have  I 
had?  Do  you  see  me  as  a  wet  nurse  to  a  lot  of  babies?  " 

"  Wet  nurse  be  hanged,"  he  responded  gruffly. 
"  Here's  your  first  chance  to  be  of  use  in  the  world  and 

—  you  talk  like  that  —  " 

"  Easy  to  talk,"  ruefully  from  me. 

"  Well,  what  the  blazes  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  am  trying  to  work  out,"  I  fell  upon 
him  bitterly.  "  D'you  think  it's  easy  ?  I've  got  to  work 
out  some  plan  — ••  find  homes  for  them  —  the  right  kind  of 
schools  —  with  a  home  environment.  Oh,  it's  easy,  I 
assure  you !  Besides,"  I  ran  on  savagely,  "  you  seem 
to  forget  I'm  to  be  married  in  two  weeks." 

"  I  did  forget  that,"  growled  Dibdin,  with  a  semblance 
of  contrition.  "  What  does  the  lady  say  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  should  she  say  ?  Could  you  expect  a  girl 
on  her  wedding  day  to  become  the  harassed  mother  of 
three  children  not  her  own  ?  " 

Dibdin  jumped  from  his  chair,  ground  an  oath  between 
his  teeth  and  his  forehead  was  a  file  of  wrinkles. 

"  Listen,  Randolph,"  he  began  in  another  voice.  "  It's 
damnably  tough,  and  I  know  it.  But  you  can't,  you  sim- 
ply can't  disperse  your  sister's  children  to  God  knows 
where.  You  are  the  only  relation  they've  got.  Put  your- 
self in  their  place.  It  would  be  damnation.  If  you  need 

—  more  money,"  he  stammered  in  confusion,  "  why,  dash 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         43 

it  —  I'm  an  old  enough  friend  of  yours  to  —  to  advance 
you  some,  eh?  " 

And  he  laughed  raucously,  wiping  the  perspiration 
from  his  forehead. 

"  You  are  a  good  sort  —  of  tramp,"  I  grinned  sheep- 
ishly, seizing  his  hand.  "  But  it  isn't  that.  I  don't  know 
as  yet  what  Laura  left  them.  But  it  isn't  that.  I  feel 
like  —  like  hell  about  it  —  but  what  can  I  do — what 
with  Gertrude  and  —  and  everything  else.  Oh,  it's  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world,  I  assure  you. —  But  I  wish  to 
God  I  could  see  my  way  to  keeping  them!  " 

"  Easy  or  not,"  said  Dibdin  huskily,  "  if  you  send  those 
children  away,  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your  body." 

I  laughed  almost  hysterically.  I  know  Dibdin.  When 
he  is  most  moved  and  most  sympathetic,  he  is  at  his  most 
violent. 

"  Don't  go,"  I  clung  to  him  as  with  sunken  head  he 
shouldered  toward  the  door. 

"  Must,"  he  growled.     "  I've  got  to  think,  too." 
"  I  wish  you  had  married,  Dibdin,  and  had  children  of 
your  own,"  I  all  but  whispered  with  my  hand  on  his 
shoulder.     "And  I'm  sorry  for  the  woman.     You're  a 
good  devil,  Dibdin.     I  wish  I  knew  who  the  woman  is." 
"  I'll  tell  you,"  murmured  Dibdin,  with  a  queer  throat- 
iness  of  tone.     "  I'll  tell  you  who  she  was.     It  can't 
matter  now.     She  was  —  No,  by  God !     I  can't  —  not 
now!" 

And  he  shuffled  out,  leaving  me  gazing  after  him 
speechless  and  open-mouthed. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  girl  Alicia  keeps  watching  me  like  some  be- 
wildered household  animal  dimly  aware  of  the  breaking 
up  of  its  household.  Always  I  am  conscious  of  her  great 
eyes  upon  me.  To  her,  I  presume,  I  am  a  Setebos  who 
can  inflict  pain  and  torture,  like  Death  himself;  who  can 
disrupt  her  little  world  of  clinging  affections  by  the 
merest  movement  of  my  hand. 

I  am  in  that  process  of  turning  things  over  to  which 
Gertrude  has  indulgently  consigned  me  and  I  am  if  any- 
thing farther  away  from  a  decision  than  I  was  twenty- 
four  hours  ago.  I  finger  my  books  and  open  at  random 
a  volume  of  Florio's  "  Montaigne  "  in  an  edition  that  is 
as  fragrant  of  good  ink  and  paper  as  the  Tudor  English 
is  rich,  and  the  first  line  that  falls  under  my  eye  is  that 
of  Seneca,  "  He  that  lives  not  somewhat  to  others,  liveth 
little  to  himself."  Does  this  mean  that  my  long  absorp- 
tion in  my  own  small  concerns  has  made  me  incapable  of 
decision  in  anything  of  importance  —  that  I  live  too 
little? 

I  stole  into  the  bedroom  last  night  where  the  children 
were  sleeping,  while  Griselda  was  making  up  my  couch 
in  the  study. 

With  their  flushed  faces  they  lay  there  almost  visibly 
glowing  before  my  eyes  with  that  perfect  faith  that  chil- 
dren seem  to  have  in  the  grown-up  world  about  them. 
Heine  somewhere  speaks  of  angels  guarding  the  child's 
couch,  and  it  is  not  sheer  poetry.  Their  faith  and  trust, 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE        45 

still  illusioned,  brevets,  I  suppose,  to  angelic  rank  every 
one  about  them.  Randolph,  with  a  slight  frown  and 
moving  lips,  dreaming  seemingly  of  something  active  and 
strenuous,  as  befits  his  ripe  age  of  eleven ;  Laura,  serene 
with  her  mother's  countenance  and  straying  curls,  and 
little  Jimmie  with  his  tumbled  hair  like  that  of  some  child 
by  Praxiteles  or  Phidias  —  they  slept  —  secure  in  their 
trust,  despite  their  recent  shattering  bereavement 

No  one  can  really  know  anything  about  children  until 
he  has  seen  them  sleeping.  Like  fortune,  they  are  al- 
ways trustfully  in  the  lap  of  the  gods.  Never  before  had 
they  touched  me  as  they  seemed  to  touch  the  hidden 
springs  in  me  at  that  moment.  It  was  so,  I  pictured, 
that  Laura  was  wont  to  steal  into  their  dormitory  of 
nights  before  going  to  bed ;  and  that  vision,  no  doubt,  was 
a  potent  help  to  her  courage  to  continue  uncomplainingly 
and  brave  in  the  face  of  sorrow,  humiliation  and  her  self- 
effacing  loneliness.  Would  I  had  been  able  to  picture 
such  things  more  clearly  while  she  was  living. 

Griselda  surprised  me  emerging  from  the  room  and  she 
smiled,  the  austere,  inscrutable  Griselda,  with  such  a  smile 
as  Michelangelo  might  have  depicted  on  the  face  of 
one  of  his  Sistine  Sybils,  those  weird  sisters  who  seem  to 
know  all  things  because  they  have  suffered  all. 

I  muttered  a  casual  good  night  to  Griselda  and  brushed 
by  her  nonchalantly,  as  a  boy  whistles  with  apparent  care- 
lessness when  he  feels  most  awkward  or  uneasy. 

I  slept  upon  my  problem  in  the  way  old  wives  advise 
you,  but  to-day  I  am  no  nearer  the  solution. 

I  keep  trying  coolly  to  imagine  them  in  appropriately 
chosen  schools  and  homes,  and  yet  some  tugging  at  my 
heart  strings,  some  strange  alchemy  of  the  brain,  wipes 
out  those  images  before  they  are  formed  and  replaces 
them  with  the  vision  I  saw  last  night  in  my  invaded  bed- 
room. 


46         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Who  is  to  help  me  make  a  choice  ?  And  before  I  have 
put  down  these  words  I  realize  that  no  one  will  help  me. 
My  dining  room  is  at  this  moment  vocal  with  their 
laughter  —  but  something  within  me  is  more  loudly 
clamorous  yet  against  the  treachery  I  am  planning  them. 
Treachery !  That  is  nonsense,  of  course.  I  have  a  per- 
fect right  to  decide  what  I  choose.  But  already  that 
word  keeps  recurring  in  my  brain  whenever  I  envisage 
their  dispersal. 

My  decision  is  taken. 

I  can  hardly  say  who  made  it.     In  reality,  I  suppose 
it  has  made  itself.     But  however  it  came  about,  there  — 
heaven  help  me !  —  it  is. 

Gertrude  telephoned  that  she  was  coming  this  after- 
noon. I  offered  to  go  to  her,  but  she  would  drop  in,  she 
graciously  insisted,  now  that  I  was  a  family  man,  after 
lunching  with  a  friend  at  the  Brevoort. 

Gertrude's  entry  is  always  breezy  and  cheerful. 

"  Hello,  Ranny,"  she  murmured  lightly,  sinking  on  the 
sofa  and  holding  out  both  hands.  I  took  them,  kissed 
them  and  held  them  in  mine.  I  was  well  aware  that  for 
her  these  were  days  of  tension. 

"  That's  nice,"  said  Gertrude  with  a  laugh.  "  But 
what  I  want  is  a  cigarette,  a  match  and  an  ash  tray." 

"  Of  course,  how  stupid  of  me ! "  I  mumbled  and  sup- 
plied her  with  her  wants. 

"  Those  books,  Ranny,"  she  puffed,  scanning  my  laden 
shelves,  "  they  terrify  me  afresh  every  time  I  see  them 

—  when  I  think  you've  read  them  all." 

"They  needn't  alarm  you/'  I  deprecated  quite  sin- 
cerely. "  The  more  I  read  them  the  less  I  seem  to  know 

—  as  you  will  agree."     And  I  sat  facing  her. 

"  No  room  for  the  brains  to  turn  round  in  ?  "  she 
laughed.  "  Oh,  come,  dear  boy,  it's  not  so  bad  as  that. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         47 

I  really  think,"  she  added  more  soberly,  "  you  have  a  very 
wise  old  bean  on  your  shoulders." 

"  What  sudden  and  startling  discovery  leads  you  to 
words  so  rash  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I've  made  the  discovery  all  right,"  she  nodded  with 
emphasis.  "  Anybody  who  can  handle  a  situation  like 
this  the  way  you're  handling  it  is  no  piker." 

Gertrude  often  affects  the  slang  of  the  day  as  a  humor- 
ous protest  against  what  she  terms  my  purism.  But  the 
truth  is,  I  like  the  vernacular  myself. 

"  Impart  it,"  I  urged  her,  whereat  she  smiled. 

"  Regular  street  Arab  you  are,"  she  declared  with  arch 
satire,  "  but  what  I  mean  is  this.  I  am  always  one  for 
quick  action  —  and  I  don't  know  much  about  children. 
I  urged  you  to  send  them  away  at  once.  But  I  realize 
now  that  so  soon  after  poor  Laura's  passing  away  that 
would  have  been  cruel  —  and  it  wouldn't  have  looked 
well,  besides.  Now  I  see  it  more  your  way,  Ranny." 

"  You  do !  "  I  could  not  help  exclaiming. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued  firmly.  "  I  see  your  way  is  best. 
I  see  that  we  can  be  quietly  married  and  have  our  little 
trip  just  the  same.  Then,  when  we  come  back,  in  the 
natural  course  of  events  and  rearrangement,  we  can  look 
up  places  for  them  and  settle  it  all  right  as  rain.  That's 
what  you  had  in  your  clever  old  head,  Ranny,  I'm  quite 
sure  —  and  I  admire  you  for  it." 

"  I  see,"  I  gasped,  wondering  what  words  or  acts  of 
mine  had  conveyed  this  elaborate  strategy  to  Gertrude. 
For  the  space  of  a  minute  perhaps  I  was  sunk  in  thought. 
The  vision  of  the  children  asleep  in  their  innocent  faith 
in  me  suddenly  arose  vividly  and  smote  me  to  the  heart. 
The  nestling  image  of  Jimmie  —  the  girl  Alicia  with  her 
great,  wistful  eyes  telling  me  that  there  was  nothing  to 
do  "  but  just  love  them  "  —  all  this  was  throbbing  in  my 
brain  with  every  heartbeat.  And  had  I  in  reality  schemed 


48        THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

out  the  intricate  design  with  which  Gertrude  now  credited 
me?  By  no  cudgeling  of  my  poor  brains  could  I  recall 
any  such  devising.  It  was  impossible.  It  was  new  to 
me.  Then  something  in  me  that  is  either  better  or  worse 
than  myself  took  the  reins  of  the  occasion  and,  like  the 
auditor  of  another's  speech,  I  heard  myself  saying  with 
solemn  firmness: 

"  No,  Gertrude  —  you  must  have  mistaken  me.  I  had 
no  such  plan.  We  shall  be  married,  of  course,  but  our 
marriage  can  make  no  difference.  I  cannot  turn  these 
children,  Laura's  children,  out  of  the  house.  Not  now, 
at  all  events,  not  until  they're  older.  They  have  no  one 
in  the  world  but  me  and  I  mean  to  keep  them." 

"  Mean  to  keep  them !  You  mean  that  ?  "  she  gasped. 
And  it  pained  me  to  be  the  cause  of  a  deep  flush  on  Ger- 
trude's face  and  neck. 

"  I've  never  meant  anything  more  certainly  in  my  life," 
I  told  her. 

"  Then  we  can't  marry,"  said  Gertrude  in  a  low  tone, 
Still  scrutinizing  me  as  though  she  were  wondering 
whether  she  had  ever  met  me  before. 

"Why  not?"  I  cried.  "Why  should  they  make  so 
great  a  difference?  In  any  case,  didn't  you  have  an  idea 
that  we  would  each  keep  our  separate  flats  ?  " 

"  Don't  talk  rot,"  flared  Gertrude  in  an  exasperation 
which  I  still  deplore,  for  the  steely  glitter  in  her  eyes 
was  not  pleasant.  "  I  am  not  going  to  make  myself 
ridiculous  by  marrying  a  houseful  of  kids  for  whom  my 
husband  is  the  nurse.  Do  you  really  stick  to  that, 
Ranny?" 

"  Yes,  Gertrude,"  I  nodded.     "  I  must." 

Gertrude  gazed  at  me  searchingly  for  a  moment,  then 
to  my  amazement  she  laughed  in  my  face,  a  trifle  louder 
than  her  wont.  Laughter  was  at  that  instant  far  from 
my  thoughts. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         49 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  resumed  her  earlier  lightness  of  tone, 
"  then  we'll  simply  postpone  our  marriage  a  while. 
You'll  get  tired  of  this  maternity  game,  Ranny,  depend 
on  it.  We've  postponed  it  three  years  —  a  few  months 
more  can't  make  much  difference,  can  it  ?  " 

Then  she  approached  me  and  took  my  hand. 

"  Little  boy's  tender  conscience  must  be  given  its  fling, 
mustn't  it  ? "  she  began  mockingly,  in  imitation  of  a 
child's  speech,  in  which  she  does  not  excel.  "  Never 
mind,  give  its  little  whim  its  head." 

A  remarkable  woman,  is  Gertrude. 

"  Perhaps  it's  only  proper,"  she  concluded  more  seri- 
ously, "  that  we  should  postpone  it,  since  you  are  just  now 
in  mourning." 

"  Nonsense,"  I  answered  her.  "  Laura  would  cer- 
tainly never  have  desired  any  such  thing.  Our  mar- 
riage will  not  be  a  thing  of  pomp  and  orange  blossoms. 
We  could  just  as  well  get  married  now  as  any  other 
time." 

"  No,  Ranny,"  she  replied  decisively.  "  Now  it's  my 
turn  to  be  firm.  I  think  I  am  right." 

I  should  honestly  have  preferred,  in  spite  of  the  condi- 
tions that  surrounded  me,  to  have  married  Gertrude  then 
and  there  without  further  delay.  We  are  neither  of  us 
young  things  full  of  ineffable  inanities  on  the  subject  of 
romance  and  I  experienced  a  sober  desire  for  all  possible 
finality  in  the  midst  of  the  jumbled  and  painful  confusion 
into  which  Fate  had  seen  fit  to  cast  me.  But  Gertrude 
was  obdurate. 

Just  as  she  was  about  to  go  there  was  a  gentle  tap  on 
the  door.  Gertrude,  whose  hand  was  already  on  the 
knob,  opened  it.  It  was  the  girl  Alicia. 

With  a  downward  quizzical  glance  Gertrude  fixed  the 
girl  so  that  for  a  moment  she  stood  fascinated,  unable  to 
detach  her  eyes  from  Gertrude's.  She  turned  them  in 


50        THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

my  direction  finally  and  they  were  troubled  and  im- 
ploring. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Byrd,"  she  said,  "  the  children  want  to 
go  for  a  walk  now,  instead  of  lessons.  The  sun  is  out. 
Can  I  take  them?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  said  hastily.     "  By  all  means." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  commanded  Gertrude,  smiling  me- 
chanically. "  What  is  your  name,  child  ?  " 

"  Alicia,  ma'am." 

"Alicia  what?" 

"  Alicia  Palmer,"  and  the  child's  voice  was  tremulous 
with  trepidation. 

"  And  do  you  give  the  children  lessons  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  she  answered,  lowering  her  eyes  as 
though  a  crime  had  found  her  out. 

"  And  how  old  are  you  ? "  asked  Gertrude  not  un- 
kindly. 

"  Going  on  fourteen,  ma'am."  The  girl  looked  up  at 
once,  responsive  to  the  gentler  tone.  But  wishing  to  re- 
lieve her  of  the  interrogatory,  I  lamely  put  in  a  word 
urging  that  she  take  the  children  out  at  once  before  the 
sun  had  disappeared.  The  girl  glided  away  like  a 
shadow. 

"Why,  she's  quite  attractive  —  the  little  thing,"  mur- 
mured Gertrude.  "  You'll  have  quite  a  menagerie." 
Then,  laughingly  turning  to  me,  she  cried,  "  Oh,  Ranny, 
Efficiency  ought  to  be  your  middle  name." 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  adopt  it  ?  "  I  murmured. 

"Dor"  said  Gertrude.  "Well,  so  long,  old  boy,  I 
must  be  running."  And  in  her  haste  she  even  forgot  to 
let  me  kiss  her  good-by. 

So  after  all  the  alderman  at  the  City  Hall  was  not  to 
sing  his  song  over  us  yet.  For  no  reason  that  I  can  help 
I  seem  to  be  in  disgrace  with  fortune,  Gertrude  and 
aldermen's  eyes. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         51 

A  nameless  melancholy,  a  kind  of  humorous  sadness, 
has  taken  possession  of  me. 

It  is  not  my  lost  tranquillity  that  I  regret  now,  nor 
does  Gertrude's  taunt  of  inefficiency  disturb  me.  But  at 
bottom  I  have  always  realized  the  type  of  man  that  I  am 
not.  The  type  of  man  who  stands  four-square  in  face 
of  all  the  shocks  and  emergencies  of  life,  who  can  meet 
all  changes  and  events  with  equal  courage,  who  can  take 
any  situation  smilingly  by  the  hand  as  though  he  were 
its  indisputable  and  indulgent  master,  that  is  the  sort 
of  man  I  should  wish  to  be.  But  all  my  own  defects 
clamorously  accuse  me  of  embodying  the  exact  opposite 
of  such  an  ideal.  I  have  shrunk  away  from  life  until  it 
fits  me  like  a  coarse  ill-cut  garment  rather  than  a  glove. 
It  takes  a  vast  deal  of  living  to  be  alive,  and  the  dread 
obsession  haunts  me  that  I  have  become  as  one  mummi- 
fied in  this  dim  catacomb  of  books. 

I  have  been  to  Carmichael's  office  at  his  request  and  the 
blow  that  he  has  dealt  me  is  heavier  than  any  since 
Laura's  death. 

Laura,  it  appears,  in  her  desperate  desire  to  increase 
her  income,  had  been  speculating  in  the  lying  promises 
of  oil  and  mining  stocks  which  offered  fabulous  returns. 
One  after  another  her  substantial  railway  and  steel  bonds 
went  to  her  brokers  for  "  margins  "  and  some  were  sold 
for  current  livelihood.  No  wonder  she  was  compelled 
to  resort  to  an  orphanage  for  a  "  mother's  helper  ",  who 
is  herself  a  child.  The  result  is  that  something  less  than 
two  thousand  dollars  of  Laura's  capital  remains  for 
her  three  motherless  and  fatherless  children,  the  oldest 
of  whom  is  eleven. 

I  have  no  doubt  but  that  her  tortured  and  silent  anxiety 
on  this  score  hastened  my  poor  sister's  death.  Car- 
michael  himself,  her  lawyer  and  adviser,  was  ignorant  of 


52         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

her  acts  until  it  was  too  late.  The  dread  goddess  For- 
tune plainly  does  nothing  by  halves.  If  it  were  not  for 
my  grief  over  the  suffering  that  poor  Laura  must  have 
endured  so  uncomplainingly,  I  should  be  moved  to  up- 
roarious laughter.  Job,  I  feel  sure,  must  have  had  his 
moments  when  the  comforters  were  not  there,  when  he 
laughed  until  the  tears  bedewed  his  dejected  old  beard. 

And  I,  incompetent  recluse  that  I  am,  have  under- 
taken the  care  and  the  rearing  of  three  children!  I 
should  at  least  admire  the  completeness  with  which  Fate 
plays  her  hands  or  produces  her  situations,  were  I  not 
at  this  moment  utterly  and  stonily  impervious  to  all 
thought  and  all  emotion  —  unless  an  inert  and  deadly 
sense  of  disaster  be  an  emotion. 

No,  that  was  not  enough.  What  a  glutton  is  that  same 
Fate !  Dibdin  has  been  here  to  say  a  hasty  good-by. 

He  has  heard  of  a  ship  that  sails  from  San  Francisco 
in  a  week  and  that  will  touch  at  his  particular  group  of 
islands,  so  that  he  will  not  have  to  trans-ship  at  Papeete, 
as  had  been  his  earlier  plan.  I  have  never  before  in  my 
life  felt  so  utterly  alone! 

He  laughed  a  curious  laugh,  that  seemed  foolish  yet 
exulting,  when  I  told  him  I  had  decided  to  keep  the  chil- 
dren. His  eyes  glittered  and  he  turned  away  for  an  in- 
stant to  hide  them. 

"  Look  here,"  he  muttered  hoarsely,  with  the  assump- 
tion of  his  most  matter-of-fact  manner,  "  let  me  advance 
you  a  thousand  dollars  or  so  —  in  case  you  should  have 
a  use  for  it.  Be  an  investment  for  me,"  he  added,  with 
a  short  laugh.  "  What  use  is  it  to  me  in  the  Marquesas 
or  Solomon  Islands,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  thanks,  Dibdin,"  I  told  him.  "  I  can  mention 
one  or  two  good  banks  on  the  Island  of  Manhattan  —  if 
you  don't  know  of  any." 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         53 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,  Randolph,"  he  came  back  with 
severity.  "  I'll  write  you  a  cheque." 

"  No,  you  won't,"  I  replied  with  equal  obstinacy.  "  I 
won't  take  it.  If  I  need  it,  I'll  cable  you." 

"  Devil  you  will,"  he  growled  irritably.  "  Cables 
don't  run  where  I'll  be.  You're  an  ass,  after  all." 

"  Thanks.  Would  you  like  to  see  the  children  before 
you  go?  " 

"  H'm,  yes,"  he  answered  meditatively.  "  No,  by 
gosh !  "  he  added  in  sudden  confusion.  "  No,  I  can't. 
Got  to  run.  Slews  of  things  still  to  do." 

Inscrutable  devil,  Dibdin !  Who  would  have  supposed 
him  such  a  bundle  of  oddly-assorted  emotions? 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said  abruptly,  as  he  was  start- 
ing, "  Carmichael  —  heard  from  him  —  everything  all 
right?" 

Inwardly  I  felt  a  tug  as  though  some  one  had  pulled 
violently  upon  some  cord  inside  me. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  lied  as  urbanely  as  I  was  able,  "  every- 
thing quite  all  right.  You'll  keep  me  in  addresses,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

He  scrutinized  me  for  an  instant  so  searchingly  that 
with  a  tremor  I  feared  he  would  see  through  me. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  he  finally  answered.  "  The 
Hotel  de  France,  Papeete,  is  a  good  address  until  you 
hear  of  another.  They  know  me  there." 

"  Good,"  I  tapped  him  on  the  back.  "  Write  a  fellow 
a  word  whenever  you  can.  Pretty  lonely  here  after 
you're  gone." 

"  Lonely !  "  he  repeated.  "  And  you  —  oh,  by  George, 
and  I'd  almost  forgotten  —  and  you  to  be  married  in  a 
few  days  —  lonely !  " 

"  That's  —  off,"  I  faltered  —  "  for  the  present." 

"Off!"  he  exclaimed  aghast.  "Did  she  break  it 
off?" 


54         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Put  it  off,"  I  corrected. 

"  When  you  told  her  of  keeping  the  kids  ?  " 

I  nodded  my  head  slowly,  watching  the  odd  play  of 
his  features. 

He  opened  his  arms  quickly  as  though  he  were  about 
to  hug  me  like  some  grizzly  old  bear  —  then  as  quickly  he 
dropped  them,  shamefaced. 

"  By  God !  "  he  uttered  solemnly.  "  This  —  this  gets 
me  —  the  way  things  came  about.  You  —  you  are  a 
man,  Randolph,  my  lad.  Courage  —  that  wins  every- 
thing in  the  end.  Even  when  it  loses,  it  wins.  Yes,  sir." 

I  have  not  the  remotest  idea  what  he  meant  by  those 
words. 

"  Broken  up  about  it?  "  he  demanded  abruptly. 

What  my  gesture  proclaimed  to  Dibdin  I  don't  know. 
For  me  it  expressed  all  that  I  had  passed  through  during 
the  last  ten  days. 

"  No,  you're  right.  No  use,"  he  said,  clapping  me  on 
the  shoulder.  "  Sit  tight,  my  boy.  Courage  —  the  only 
thing!  Now,  good-by,"  he  wrung  my  hand,  "and  God 
bless  you." 

"  Same  to  you,  old  boy,  and  best  of  luck." 

And  now  the  only  intimate  friend  I  possess  has  gone 
and  left  a  hole  in  the  atmosphere  as  large  as  Central 
Park. 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN  odd  look  of  overt  approval  I  have  surprised  of 
late  in  Griselda's  eyes  causes  me  a  peculiar  twinge  of  re- 
gret. It  shows  that  new  conditions  have  overwhelm- 
ingly ousted  the  old.  Griselda  never  troubled  to  approve 
of  me  before.  I  have  no  desire  for  any  change  in  Gris- 
elda, even  for  the  better. 

I  have  been  successful,  however,  I  am  bound  to  record. 
I  have  found  an  outdoor  school  for  Ranny  and  Laura 
in  Macdougal  Street  near  Washington  Square,  and  a 
nearby  kindergarten  for  Jimmie.  The  girl  Alicia  is  able 
to  take  Ranny  and  Laura  to  Macdougal  Street  on  the  way 
to  her  own  public  school.  Jimmie,  who  does  not  go  un- 
til later  in  the  morning,  is  a  problem.  Thus  far  I  have 
been  conducting  him  to  his  kindergarten  myself.  But 
obviously  that  cannot  continue,  despite  the  fact  that 
Jimmie,  seeing  his  elder  brother  depart  with  two  girls, 
turns  to  me  with  a  look  of  inimitable  superiority  and 
observes : 

"  We  men  must  stick  together,  mustn't  we,  Uncle 
Ranny." 

I  gravely  agree  with  him  on  the  general  policy,  though 
I  aim  to  forestall  future  trouble  by  indicating  that  ex- 
pediency often  governs  these  things. 

The  term  bills  paid  in  advance  to  the  schools  have  left 
a  gap  in  my  exchequer.  For  the  first  time  I  have  been 
compelled  to  decline  a  genuine  bargain.  Andrews,  the 
bookseller,  called  me  up  with  the  announcement  that  he 
had  something  I  could  not  resist.  Laughing,  I  asked  him 
to  name  it. 


56         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  It  is  nothing  less  than  Boswell's  '  Johnson ',"  he  told 
me  with  particular  solemnity,  "  first  edition,  with  the  mis- 
print on  page  135  —  a  beautiful  copy." 

"Dated  April  10,  1791?" 

"Dated  April  10,  1791,"  he  repeated  with  impressive 
triumph.  My  heart  sank,  though  it  was  beating  loudly. 
For  many  years  I  have  had  an  order  for  that  Boswell. 

"And  the  price?  "  I  murmured  faintly. 

"  For  you,"  he  said,  "  four  hundred  dollars." 

Griselda  would  approve  of  me  blatantly  did  she  know 
the  courage  it  required  to  answer  Andrews. 

"  No,  friend,  I  am  sorry  but  I  cannot  afford  it  at  pres- 
ent." 

Andrews  was  incredulous.  "  Do  I  hear  you  cor- 
rectly ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Accurately,"  I  told  him,  "  if  you  hear  that  I  can't 
take  it" 

"  Then  I  refuse  to  accept  the  evidence  of  my  ears," 
he  retorted  with  spirit.  "  I  shall  send  it  down  to  you." 
I  told  him  it  was  useless.  "  Oh,  you  needn't  buy  it," 
he  shouted.  "  But  I  insist  on  giving  an  old  customer 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  it  at  his  leisure,  in  his  own 
library." 

A  shrewd,  good  devil  is  Andrews,  even  though  he  is 
a  good  salesman.  I  have  been  feasting  my  senses  on  the 
Boswell,  but  it  will  have  to  go  back. 

Dibdin's  going  so  abruptly  has  left  me  very  heavy  at 
times  upon  my  own  hands.  He  had  a  way  of  dropping 
in  unannounced  when  you  least  expected  him,  so  that  I 
came  to  count  upon  him  at  unexpected  moments.  There 
is  no  one  to  take  his  place.  Now  on  clear  evenings  I 
ramble  aimlessly  northward  and  often  turn  in  at  the  club, 
though  so  little  have  I  been  a  frequenter  of  it  I  hardly 
know  a  soul  in  the  place.  Last  night  I  ran  into  my  class- 
mate, Fred  Salmon,  for  the  first  time  in  months. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         57 

Fred  is,  I  should  say,  my  exact  antithesis.  He  is  full 
jf  laughter  and  noise  and  exuberance.  Riches  are  his 
goal  in  life,  and  if  he  expended  one  half  the  vitality  on 
the  acquisition  of  riches  that  he  devotes  to  the  collection 
of  humorous  anecdotes,  he  would  be  a  wealthy  man 
to-day. 

"  Hello,  Ranny,"  he  shouted  when  he  saw  me,  "  you're 
just  in  time  to  join  me  in  a  little  refreshment.  What 
you  doing  now?"  Luckily  he  seldom  waits  for  an  an- 
swer. With  trained  rapidity  he  gave  his  order  to  a 
waiter  and  continued,  "  Come  across  any  rare  editions 
lately,  any  fine  copies,  such  as  '  Skeezicks  '  or  *  Toodlums ' 
by  Gazook?  " 

"  No,"  I  told  him,  "  my  collection  is  lacking  in  those 
masterpieces." 

"  Tell  you  what  you  ought  to  be,  Ranny,"  he  boomed, 
as  the  waiter  put  down  the  glasses.  "  You  ought  to  be 
( here's  how ! )  —  a  bond  salesman !  "  he  decided  after 
a  pause  and  gulped  down  his  liquor;  —  "or  else  a  dog 
fancier." 

"  Why  those  exalted  callings?  "  I  asked  with  only  the 
mildest  curiosity. 

"  You  are  such  a  simp  and  you  look  so  damn  honest," 
he  elucidated,  "  that  anybody  would  believe  anything  you 
say." 

"  Then  will  you  believe  me  if  I  say  I  don't  want  to 
be  either  of  those  things  —  or  anything  else  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sure ! "  he  responded  heartily.  "  I  know  that 
all  right.  You  haven't  got  anything  on  me.  I'd  rather 
own  a  few  good  horses  and  follow  the  races  round  the 
tracks  of  the  world,  if  I  had  my  choice.  Instead  of  which 
I've  got  to  separate  the  world  from  enough  dollars  to 
keep  me  going.  If  ever  you  get  hard  up,  Ran,"  he  con- 
cluded reflectively,  "  let  me  know.  I'll  set  you  up  in  the 
right  game.  Never  make  a  mistake.  I  took  a  course  in 


58         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

character  reading  for  five  dollars  —  by  correspondence 
—  that's  how  I  know  so  much." 

Dollars!  Dollars!  Dollars!  Must  every  one  then 
become  merely  a  dollar-amassing  machine?  I  remember 
Fred  in  college,  ruddy  with  the  freshness  of  youth,  when 
he  was  making  jokes  for  the  Lampoon  and,  so  abundant 
was  his  energy,  everybody  expected  him  to  do  Great 
Things.  And  now  he  can  talk  of  nothing  but  dollars  — 
and  he  doesn't  seem  to  be  oversupplied  with  those.  I  am 
nothing  myself,  but  at  least  no  one  expected  anything 
of  me. 

Fred  proposed  that  we  play  a  game  of  poker,  bridge, 
checkers  or  cribbage.  But  as  none  of  those  manly  sports 
tempted  me  at  the  moment  we  parted  and  he  cordially  in- 
formed me  that  he  would  look  me  up  one  day. 

Nevertheless,  with  all  his  noise  and  emptiness,  Fred 
was  glowing,  or  seemed  to  be  glowing  to  me.  His  ideas 
are  puerile.  His  talk  is  cast  in  one  mold,  upon  one  de- 
sign, that  of  evoking  laughter.  But  he  is  alive.  He  is 
not  apathetic.  That  is  what  I  deplore  in  myself,  the 
apathy  that  has  saturated  me  after  the  recent  events,  that 
are  like  a  dark  liquid  which  has  entered  my  mind  at  one 
point  and  then  by  natural  action  unchecked  has  stained 
every  fiber  of  my  being.  It  is  not  thus  I  shall  acquit  my- 
self of  the  task  I  have  assumed.  I  must  become  alive! 

The  children,  I  am  beginning  to  think,  are  the  only 
creatures  really  alive  in  this  world.  They  don't  hanker 
after  musty-smelling  first  editions,  after  knowledge  of 
bygone  old  worthies  like  Ser  Brunetto  some  seven  cen- 
turies dead,  nor  yet  after  the  eternal  conversion  of  life 
into  dollars. 

To-day  I  witnessed  a  curious  excrescence  of  their  bub- 
bling imaginations.  My  door  standing  open,  I  was  able 
to  observe  a  ceremony  that  transformed  my  dining  room 
into  a  church  and  the  four  infants  with  solemn  faces  into 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         59 

the  vivid  celebrants  of  the  sacrament  of  marriage.  They 
are  evidently  ignorant  of  the  "  alderman  "  method.  To 
the  delight  of  Jimmie  and  Laura,  Ranny,  my  oldest 
nephew,  with  hieratic  pomp,  was  being  married  to  the  girl 
Alicia.  Even  she  knew  better  than  to  laugh  as  the  boy 
was  slipping  a  ring  upon  her  finger,  murmuring  some 
gibberish  which  he  had  either  learned  or  invented,  and 
endowing  her  with  all  his  worldly  goods.  The  goods 
consisted  first  of  all  in  the  number  of  a  hundred  kisses, 
which  the  boy  proceeded  to  administer  with  savage  real- 
ism to  the  crowing  delight  of  Jimmie  and  the  uncon- 
trollable giggling  of  Laura.  This  part  of  the  endow- 
ment being  finally  completed,  he  brought  forth  from  his 
pocket  a  small  toy  pistol  and  gravely  placed  it  in  her 
hand.  I  nearly  jumped  from  my  chair  when  I  saw  that. 
A  pistol  of  all  things !  What  could  have  made  the  little 
apes  think  of  that?  What  a  text  for  a  cynic!  Perhaps 
every  bride  ought  to  receive  a  pistol  as  part  of  her  wed- 
ding dower?  They  then  proceeded  merrily  to  eat  bits 
of  cake  and  to  laugh  and  chatter  like  any  other  wedding 
guests.  I  closed  my  door  softly  and  for  a  space  I  was 
lost  in  reflection,  For  it  suddenly  came  to  me  that  to 
approach  life  with  anything  less  than  the  playful  zest 
of  children  was  a  grim,  a  fatal  error. 

It  was  odd  that  Gertrude  should  have  chosen  that  hour 
to  evince  the  only  sign  since  her  decision  that  she  had 
any  memory  of  me.  When  she  came  in,  preceded  by  the 
knock  and  laconic  announcement  of  Griselda,  the  first 
words  she  spoke  were: 

"  Well,  Ranny,  and  how  is  domesticity  ?  " 

"  Highly  educative,"  I  told  her,  as  I  ministered  to  her 
usual  wants.  "  I  have  just  learned  the  proper  way  of 
marrying  a  woman." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  murmured  Gertrude,  somewhat  sourly,  I 
thought,  "  and  how  is  that  ?  " 


60        THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  It's  not  the  alderman  that  is  important,"  I  informed 
her.  "  It's  done  with  a  hundred  kisses  and  a  pistol." 
In  reply  to  her  look  of  incomprehension,  I  described  to 
her  the  episode  of  the  dining  room.  To  my  surprise 
Gertrude  could  see  no  humor  in  that. 

"  What  a  child  you  are,  Ranny,"  she  shook  her  head 
sadly.  "  And  I  thought  that  with  all  your  faults  you 
were  a  serious  person." 

"  That  must  have  been  your  fundamental  mistake 
about  me,"  I  answered  somewhat  sheepishly  and  yet 
nettled.  "  I  fear  I  am  not  half  as  serious  as  the  children 
are." 

"  No,"  said  Gertrude.  Then  after  a  brief  pause, 
"  Have  you  decided  yet  that  the  children  ought  to  be  sent 
away  to  schools  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  Gertrude !  Such  a  thing  has  not  entered 
my  head  since  —  since  we  talked  of  it,"  I  told  her. 

"  Ranny,"  she  solemnly  leaned  forward,  "  I  think  I 
know  what's  troubling  you.  You  needn't  be  so  foolishly 
proud  with  me.  It's  a  question  of  money,  I  take  it. 
Well,  I'm  ready  to  help  out  with  their  bills.  I  know 
these  things  are  expensive.  I  am  willing  to  set  aside 
part  of  my  income  for  their  bills.  We  could  arrange 
that  part  of  it  somehow.  Why,  you  foolish  boy,  won't 
you  take  me  into  your  confidence  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  that  —  at  all,"  I  stammered.  "  Why  won't 
you  understand  —  it's  the  children  themselves.  How 
can  I  throw  them  over  ?  " 

"  You  don't  think  you're  doing  anything  for  them 
here  —  you  and  this  foundling-asylum  girl,  who  comes 
from  goodness  knows  what  parents  ?  Better  let  me  man- 
age this  —  " 

Curiously,  I  felt  offended  at  her  speaking  thus  of  the 
girl  Alicia  who  seems  as  integrally  a  part  of  my  charge 
and  household  as  any  of  the  rest. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         61 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,  Gertrude,"  I  muttered,  "  to 
offer  so  much.  But  to  take  money  from  you  for  my 
sister's  children  is  —  out  of  the  question."  This  put  her 
more  than  ever  out  of  temper. 

"  I  never  knew  any  one  quite  so  idiotic/'  she  retorted 
caustically.  "  You  can  do  nothing  yourself  and  you 
won't  let  anybody  who  can,  help  you."  And  after  smok- 
ing in  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  Gertrude  turned  from 
me  in  disgust.  Very  smartly  dressed  she  was,  too,  with 
a  most  becoming  winter  hat  and  handsome  furs.  I 
should  like  to  please  Gertrude.  But  she  seems  unable  to 
grasp  my  point  of  view,  namely,  that  touching  those  chil- 
dren I  feel  my  responsibility  to  be  personal. 

"If  only  some  one  nearer  to  them  than  myself  turned 
up,"  I  murmured  abjectly,  "  you'd  see  me  bundling  them 
out  so  quick  it  would  make  their  little  heads  buzz." 

"  Nearer,"  she  repeated  vaguely,  "  when  you  know 
there  is  no  such  person." 

"  Their  father,  for  instance,"  I  explained.  "  I  have 
no  reason  to  think  him  dead.  Laura  had  always  felt  cer- 
tain he  was  alive.  There  are  all  sorts  of  explanations 
possible  for  his  absence.  He  may  come  back,  you 
know." 

Gertrude  laughed  at  me  bitterly. 

"  The  only  likely  explanation,"  she  retorted,  "  is  that 
he  was  tired  of  his  wife  and  children.  He  is  probably 
having  a  good  time  somewhere  with  some  one  who  knows 
how  to  hold  him." 

That  was  a  phrase  that  stung  me.  Why  must  she 
slur  my  poor  sister  now  in  her  grave?  I  bowed  my  head 
but  I  could  not  reply  even  though  I  admit  to  a  feeling  of 
gloomy  certainty  that  Jim  Pendleton  will  never  return. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Gertrude,  smiling  grimly  at  me. 

"  Au  revoir,"  I  answered,  letting  her  out.  But  she 
paid  no  further  heed  to  me. 


62         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Why  I  should  vent  my  undeniable  irritation  upon 
Alicia  I  do  not  know.  But  I  called  her  into  my  study  as 
soon  as  Gertrude  had  gone  and  she  entered  smiling 
brightly.  The  child,  I  believe,  looks  considerably  happier 
than  she  did  when  first  she  came  here  and  hef  eyes  are 
less  wistful.  I  was  conscious  of  the  sternness  of  a 
hanging  judge  upon  my  visage.  But  Alicia  ignored 
my  mood.  Possibly  she  has  found  me  out  and  knows 
that  I  am  least  to  be  feared  when  in  appearance  most 
despotic. 

"  Alicia,"  I  began  severely,  "  how  are  the  children 
getting  on?  Are  they  all  right?"  (What  an  imbecile 
query!) 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  she  wonderingly  answered. 

"  I  mean  —  are  they  happy  here?  "  I  scowled  at  her. 

"  Yes,  sir  —  they  think  it's  lovely." 

"Are  they  —  are  they  afraid  of  me?"  I  demanded 
austerely,  looking  grimly  at  my  finger  nails. 

"  No-o,  sir,"  she  stammered,  "  they  —  they  are  not" 

I  was  terrifying  the  child,  I  realized  with  a  pang.  But 
when  I  looked  up  suddenly  the  little  vixen  seemed  to  be 
struggling  with  laughter  —  though  that  can  hardly  be. 
She  had  the  manners  to  turn  away.  An  attaching  little 
baggage  is  this  child,  but  I'll  have  no  nonsense. 

"  And  you  —  "  I  pulled  her  up  sharply,  too  sharply 
perhaps,  whereat  I  grinned  in  mitigation  — 

"  Do  you  feel  competent  to  go  on  taking  care  of 
them?" 

"  Oh,"  she  gasped  —  no  suspicion  of  laughter  now  — 
"  I  just  love  it  —  Oh,  you're  not  thinking  of  —  of  send« 
ing  me  away,  after  all,  Mr.  Byrd  ?  " 

There  was  a  catch  in  the  poor  girl's  voice  and  I  felt 
stupid  and  brutal 

"  No  —  no,"  I  growled  judicially.  "  Not  at  all.  I 
merely  wanted  to  make  sure  that  there  is  no  trouble  of 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         63 

any  sort.  I  suggest  that  you  report  to  me  every  day  or 
two  upon  anything  that  occurs  to  you  —  that  you  think 
I  ought  to  know." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  faltered,  "  I  will,  sir." 

"  Have  they  clothes  and  shoes  and  tilings  —  warm 
enough  for  this  weather?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  —  heaps,"  she  answered,  smiling  again. 

"  And  you,  have  you  everything  you  need  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  sir  —  I  think  I  have."  Her  shoes  seemed 
thin  and  worn.  I  was  in  no  mood  to  be  superficial  or 
evasive. 

"  Are  those  the  best  shoes  you  have?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  answered  faintly.  Her  calico  frock 
also  seemed  extremely  thin. 

"  That  is  all,"  I  dismissed  her  curtly.  "  Ask  Griselda 
to  come  to  me,  please." 

"  Griselda,"  I  began,  genial  enough  to  one  that  is  not 
in  awe  of  me,  "  I  wish  you  would  look  over  the  girl 
Alicia's  wardrobe  and  get  her  whatever  she  needs  in  the 
way  of  shoes  and  things.  Would  you  mind  doing  that?  " 

"  Ay,  I'll  do  it,  Mr.  Randolph.  I  know  some  cheap 
places  in  Fourteenth  Street  —  " 

"  Heaven  forbid,  Griselda,"  I  interrupted  her.  "  I 
won't  have  that.  There  is  enough  inequality  and  heart- 
burning in  the  world  without  putting  it  among  children. 
No,  no.  Buy  the  things  where  you  bought  the  others 
—  for  Miss  Laura's  children." 

Griselda  laughed  hoarsely. 

"  You'll  not  begin  ruining  the  lassie  with  gaudy 
clothes !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  No,  Griselda,  I'll  not.  Good  clothes  have  never  yet 
ruined  anybody,"  I  gave  her  as  my  genuine  conviction. 
"  It's  the  other  way  about.  It's  poor  clothes  eat  at  the 
vitals  of  your  self-respect  like  the  fox  in  the  tale  of  the 
Spartan  lad." 


64         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Have  ye  gone  into  the  bills  for  the  clothes  for  the 
bairns  ?  "  she  flung  at  me. 

"Not  yet,"  I  answered  mildly.  "But  I'll  make  a 
walking  tour  through  them  one  of  these  days." 

"  You'll  walk  backwards  when  you  do,  I'm  thinking," 
flung  out  Griselda,  and  disappeared,  muttering.  In 
Griselda's  lexicon  extravagance  is  synonymous  with 
crime  and  even  outtops  it.  But  she  is  certain  to  do  as  I 
ask. 

There  was  a  book  auction  to-day.  And  two  days  hav- 
ing elapsed  since  my  interview  with  Gertrude  I  was  suf- 
ficiently myself,  when  I  lay  down  the  paper  announcing 
it,  to  think  of  going.  The  news  of  an  auction  still  has 
the  effect  upon  me  that  a  bugle  might  exert  upon  some 
battered,  superannuated  cavalry  horse.  Despite  the  rise 
of  the  plutocratic  collector,  despite  the  shoals  of  dealers 
who  have  made  of  book-buying  almost  an  exact  science, 
I  still  dream  of  encountering  one  day  the  fortune  of  Ed- 
ward Malone,  who,  late  in  the  eighteenth  century,  bought 
Shakespeare's  sonnets  in  the  edition  of  1609  and  a  first 
printing  of  the  "  Rape  of  Lucrece  ",  all  for  two  guineas. 

I  had  already  conducted  Jimmie  to  his  kindergarten. 
On  the  way,  as  he  nestled  his  hand  more  firmly  in  mine, 
he  looked  up  at  me  with  a  humorous  smile  and  informed 
me  that  "  we  men  have  won'erful  times  together."  It 
gave  me  a  curious  thrill  and  I  felt  grateful  even  for  this 
companionship  in  my  solitary  life  which  Gertrude  and 
so  many  others  find  foolish  and  despicable. 

I  was  letting  myself  out  at  the  front  door  when  a 
plain,  large-mouthed  young  woman  of  perhaps  thirty, 
austerely  garbed  in  black,  stood  facing  me.  I  remained 
for  a  moment  bereft  of  speech  and  then,  of  course,  I 
foolishly  apologized,  I  don't  know  why  —  perhaps  for 
encumbering  the  earth. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         66 

"  You  wish  to  see  Griselda?  "  I  mumbled,  with  my  hat 
in  my  hand. 

"  No,"  she  declared,  scrutinizing  me  in  the  murky 
hallway.  "  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Randolph  Byrd." 

"  I  am  he,"  I  told  her. 

"  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
Mentally  I  waved  a  sad  farewell  to  the  book  auction  and 
to  any  bargains  it  might  hold  and  led  the  way  to  my 
study. 

"  I  am  at  your  service,"  I  told  her,  grinning,  and  all 
but  offered  her  a  cigarette. 

"  It's  about  the  little  girl,  Alicia  Palmer,"  she  began 
hesitantly  as  though  she  had  something  dreadful  to  im- 
part. 

"  Are  you  her  teacher  ?  "  I  wonderingly  asked. 

"  No,  Mr.  Byrd,  I  am  from  the  Home  for  Dependent 
Children  —  I  am  one  of  the  inspectors." 

"  Ah,  I  see.  You  wish  to  —  to  inspect  her,"  I  blun- 
dered on  stupidly,  whereat  she  laughed. 

"  No  —  not  exactly,"  she  smiled.  "  To  tell  the  truth, 
Mr.  Byrd,  I  wish  to  inspect  you  —  " 

"  Well,  this  is  all  there  is  of  me,"  I  broke  in. 

"  And  I  want,"  she  added,  "  to  take  her  back  to  the 
Home." 

"  Take  her  back !  "  I  cried,  stung  by  something  in  her 
tone.  "  But  —  but  why  ?  " 

"  We  don't  allow  our  girls  to  live  in  the  homes  of 
bachelors,"  she  murmured,  lowering  her  eyes  for  an  in- 
stant. 

"  Oh !  "  I  gasped  feebly.  It  is  my  eternal  wrongness 
that  seems  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  everything.  The  pic- 
ture of  the  children  upon  my  hands  without  the  girl 
Alicia  swept  me  with  a  chill  dismay. 

"  It  ought  to  have  been  reported  to  us,"  she  said  re- 
provingly. "  It  really  ought." 


66         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  What  ought  to  have  been  reported  ?  "  I  groped  in  be- 
wilderment. 

"  The  change  —  the  transfer.  We  sent  Alicia  to  Mrs. 
Pendleton,"  she  explained.  "  When  Mrs.  Pendleton  — 
er  —  died,  we  ought  to  have  been  notified  —  so  we  could 
look  after  her." 

"  I  understand,"  I  murmured  weakly.  "  You  see,  my 
sister's  death  was  so  sudden  that  nobody  thought  of  such 
things.  I  didn't  even  know  she  had  taken  this  girl  from 
your  Home." 

In  nry  blundering  way  I  then  explained  to  her  how  the 
children  came  here,  of  their  attachment  to  Alicia  and  of 
my  own  absurd  dependence  upon  her  —  which  I  abruptly 
realized.  I  told  her  quite  truthfully,  I  believe,  that  now 
the  children  could  not  get  on  without  her.  And  the 
bitter  thought  assailed  me  that  nothing  in  this  world  that 
is  pleasant  or  fitting  or  agreeable  can  long  be  left  un- 
shattered;  that  everything  human  and  sweet  and  tran- 
quil must  be  by  some  human  hands  undone.  What  a 
miserably  destructive  race  we  are! 

"  Well,"  I  concluded  sadly,  "  I  suppose  now  you'll 
take  her  away  —  and  what  I  shall  do  with  these  three 
children  is  beyond  me." 

To  my  surprise,  as  I  looked  up,  I  distinctly  saw  a  tear 
glisten  in  her  eye.  She  looked  away. 

"  You  have  a  great  many  books,"  she  observed  with 
nervous  irrelevance. 

"  The  result  of  a  misspent  life,"  I  sighed. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  what  to  do  or  say,"  she  said,  ris- 
ing awkwardly.  "  I'd  like  to  see  Alicia  and  —  the  other 
children.  And  I'll  have  to  report  —  I  shall  call  up  the 
matron  of  the  Home  on  the  telephone." 

"  Won't  you  do  it  now  ?  "  I  eagerly  prompted. 

"  I'd  better  see  Alicia  first,  I  think  —  when  will  she 
be  in?" 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         67 

"  At  lunch  time,"  I  said ;  "  won't  you  stay,  or  come  to 
lunch?" 

She  seemed  to  recall  that  this  was  that  obscene  en- 
vironment, the  home  of  a  bachelor. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  murmured  primly.  "  I'd  better 
come  again  in  the  afternoon.  Would  three-thirty  do  aH 
right?" 

"  Admirably,"  I  told  her. 

"I'll  do  the  very  best  I  can,"  she  reassured  me. 

"  That's  very  good  of  you,"  I  answered  from  a  grate- 
ful heart. 

Farewell,  auctions!  Farewell,  peace!  Once  again  I 
am  in  troubled  waters,  predestined  like  a  bit  of  flotsam 
to  bob  about  only  in  storm.  Obscurely,  deep  within  me, 
I  long  for  power  to  do  everything,  to  arrange  everything, 
to  make  my  world  swing  about  me  rhythmically  instead 
of  my  lurching  about  it  drunkenly.  Even  on  this  secret 
page,  meant  for  no  eyes  but  mine,  I  would  pour  out  my 
grief  and  tragedy,  the  eternal  underlying  sadness  of  life 
—  and  then  rise  up  a  man  of  will  and  energy  to  manage 
my  affairs.  Instead,  I  can  only  weakly  scribble  inepti- 
tudes to  while  away  the  time  until  a  poor  underpaid  girl 
inspectress  returns  to  pronounce  sentence  upon  me.  Am 
I,  or  am  I  not,  to  be  allowed  to  live  within  hailing  of  tran- 
quillity? Gertrude,  I  am  wretchedly  afraid,  was  right 
after  all.  What  business  has  a  manikin  like  myself  to 
look  with  bold  eyes  upon  duty,  or  to  grapple  with  re- 
sponsibility which  an  ordinary  man  would  assume  as  if 
adding  another  key  to  his  key-ring  —  to  pocket  and 
forget  ? 

Falstaff  could  not  have  been  more  genial  or  hilarious 
than  I  feel  at  this  moment,  nor  yet  the  ancient  Pistol. 
When  I  left  the  dining  room  a  few  minutes  ago,  my 
dignity  would  have  suffered  permanent  eclipse  had  the 


68         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

children  espied  me  after  I  closed  my  door.  I  capered 
about  the  room  like  some  rheumatic  goat  lilting  a  wild 
melody  sotto  voce. 

The  inspectress  has  pointed  her  thumbs  upward.  I 
hardly  know  whether  Alicia,  the  children  or  Griselda  de- 
cided the  issue  favorably. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  Alicia  alone  ?  "  I  asked  the  in- 
spectress when  she  returned.  She  will  never  know,  that 
nice  plain  girl,  with  what  tension  I  had  awaited  her.  No 
lover  she  may  have  had  has  ever  kept  a  tryst  for  her 
more  tremulously  —  or  she  would  not  now  be  Miss 
Smith. 

"  No,"  was  her  reply,  "  she  is  only  a  child.  I  want  to 
see  her  with  the  children."  Alicia  was  already  prepared 
and,  I  am  bound  to  admit,  partially  primed. 

"  Here  is  Miss  Smith,  come  to  see  you,  Alicia,"  I  an- 
nounced with  assumed  lightness,  as  I  ushered  the  lady  in. 
Oh,  it  was  very  distinctly  "  ushered." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Alicia,"  Miss  Smith  held  out  her 
hand,  melting  at  the  sight  of  the  children  in  the  midst 
of  play.  "  How  are  you  — ;  well  and  happy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  so  happy !  "  answered  Alicia,  coming  forward 
with  flushed  cheeks.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  came." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  write  us,  child  ?  "  was  the  gen- 
tle remonstrance. 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry,  Miss  Smith,"  from  contrite 
Alicia.  "  But  the  time  passed  so  quickly  —  I  was  just 
going  to  —  and  I  had  to  get  new  clothes  —  and  there  are 
so  many  things  to  do." 

Miss  Smith  looked  down  at  Alicia's  clothes  dubiously. 
Perhaps  she  thought  their  quality  too  ruinously  good  for 
one  of  the  inmates  of  her  Home.  She  then  glanced  at 
the  silent,  wondering  children. 

"  Hello,  Miss  Smith !  "  they  cried  in  broken  chorus, 
catching  her  eye.  It  was  she  who  had  originally  brought 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         69 

Alicia  to  them.  "  You  won't  take  Alicia  away,  will 
you?  "  Laura  spoke  up  bravely. 

"  Why,  dear  ?  —  Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  her  go 
away?"  she  returned,  smiling  uncertainly. 

"  No !  We  wouldn't !  "  replied  all  the  children  actu- 
ally in  one  voice,  with  little  Jimmie  loudest,  whereat  we 
both  laughed. 

"  Who,"  demanded  Randolph  sternly,  "  will  sew  our 
buttons  on?  " 

"  And  who'll  give  me  my  baf  ?  "  cried  Jimmie. 

"  Or  help  us  with  our  lessons  ?  "  put  in  Laura. 

"  Well,  we'll  see!  "  Miss  Smith  came  back  brightly.  I 
believe  that  young  woman  is  genuinely  fond  of  children. 
"  What  are  you  playing  just  now?  " 

They  all  began  to  explain  at  once. 

"  Shall  I  leave  you  with  them  ?  "  I  murmured. 

"  Yes  —  I'll  stay  a  minute  or  two,"  she  nodded  — 
and  I  tiptoed  out  to  await  doom. 

When  I  returned  a  few  minutes  later,  I  heard  to  my 
surprise  Griselda's  voice,  just  before  I  opened  the  door, 
rising  to  the  full  height  of  her  indignation : 

"  If  this  is  no  fitting,  then  nothing  is  fitting  — " 
whereupon  I  opened  the  door. 

The  children  had  disappeared.  Griselda  with  flash- 
ing eyes  was  literally  towering  over  poor  Miss  Smith. 
Evidently  Griselda  had  been  bearing  testimony.  Most 
excellent  witness,  Griselda!  What  chance  had  any 
Miss  Smith  against  a  rock  of  sheer  personality  like 
Griselda  ? 

"  It's  all  right,"  Miss  Smith  announced,  smiling  faintly 
as  I  entered.  "  I  called  up  the  matron  this  noon  and  she 
left  it  in  my  hands.  This  is  an  exception  —  the  first  of 
its  kind  in  our  institution  —  but  I  mean  to  let  Alicia 
stay.  She  —  she  seems  so  happy  here,"  she  added, 
faltering. 


70         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  That's  very  gracious  of  you,"  I  bowed.  "  I  thank 
you.  Shall  we  —  tell  them  your  decision  ?  " 

Griselda  opened  the  door  of  the  bedroom  where  they 
all  had  been  cooped  up  like  so  many  frightened  little 
hares,  and  Randolph,  unable  to  contain  himself,  demanded 
eagerly : 

"Can  she  stay?" 

"  Yes,"  nodded  Miss  Smith,  and  wild  shouts  must 
have  shattered  the  nerves  of  the  other  tenants.  Jimmie, 
as  a  mark  of  highest  favor,  ran  to  Miss  Smith  and  held 
forth  his  arms  to  be  taken  up  into  hers.  He  could  not 
bestow  a  greater  confidence.  Alicia  dabbed  some  happy 
tears  from  her  cheeks.  I  begged  Miss  Smith  to  stay  to 
tea  with  them  and  unobtrusively  escaped.  Now  my 
mind  is  agog  with  triumphant  imaginings.  If  ever  I 
become  President,  Griselda  of  a  certainty  shall  be  my 
Secretary  of  State. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Now  that  the  Christmas  holidays  have  passed  and  I 
have  been  casting  up  accounts,  the  uneasy  knowledge  has 
come  to  me  that  I  am  no  longer  living  on  my  income. 
The  freshet  of  bills  is  surging  about  me  yet.  Perhaps 
I  have  been  improvident,  but  I  have  not  bought  a  book 
in  ages.  Andrews,  the  bookseller,  informed  me  the 
other  day,  with  an  expression  more  of  sorrow  than  of 
anger,  that  though  he  couldn't  comprehend  my  unac- 
countable refusal  of  the  Boswell,  he  had  not  the  heart 
to  offer  it  to  any  one  else.  He  was  holding  it  still,  he 
declared,  in  order  to  spare  a  friend  regrets. 

"  Sell  it,  Andrews,  for  God's  sake  —  sell  it,"  I  told 
him. 

"  But  you've  had  your  order  in  for  three  years,"  he 
protested,  "  and  never  canceled  it.  Now  suddenly  you 
refuse  it.  That  must  mean  something!  " 

"  It  means  —  I'll  tell  you  what  it  means,  Andrews : 
I  have  acquired  a  young  family."  I  then  briefly  ex- 
plained to  him  my  situation. 

"  You  don't  tell  me,  Mr.  Byrd  —  you  don't  tell  me !  " 
he  repeated  over  and  over.  "  Then  this  is  what  I  do," 
he  announced  with  P,  sudden  ferocity  of  decision.  "  I 
hold  that  v:ork,  if  I  have  to  hold  it  for  ten  years,  until 
such  a  time  as  you  feel  you  can  take  it.  Only  I  am  so 
short  of  room  here,"  he  added  blandly,  "  will  you  not 
store  it  for  me  on  your  shelves?  " 

"  Why,  you  —  you  Samaritan !  "  I  laughed  in  my  em- 


72         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

barrassment,  clapping  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  What  are 
you  trying  to  do  —  make  a  bankrupt  of  me  ?  " 

"If  you  will  include  it  under  your  insurance  —  "  he 
answered  — "  but  never  mind :  I'll  insure  it  myself." 
And  then  he  talked  of  something  else.  He  was  as  good 
as  his  word.  Before  I  reached  home  that  Boswell  was 
here  and  is  now  on  my  shelves.  I  have  been  gloating 
over  that  epic  of  personality  and  it  occurs  to  me  that 
Johnson  and  Griselda  are  kindred  of  the  spirit. 

Two  months!  It  is  incredible.  Years  must  have 
passed  since  the  children  have  come  here.  My  past  life 
seems  remote  as  ancient  Egypt.  This  morning  came  a 
letter  from  Biagi  of  the  Laurentian,  asking  why  he  did 
not  hear  from  me,  when  was  I  coming  to  Florence,  and 
adding  that  at  Oxford  also  some  Brunetto  Latini  ma- 
terial has  been  recently  unearthed  and  that  I  might  stop 
on  the  way  and  examine  it  I  laughed.  Gone  are  those 
days,  never,  I  fear,  to  return.  If  only  I  could  smell  a 
good  old  parchment  once  again!  I  still  remember  the 
thrill  I  felt  when  Biagi  first  showed  me  the  vellum  script 
of  Sophocles  at  the  Laurentian.  I  could  actually  see  the 
scribe  in  the  Byzantium  of  the  eleventh  century  rever- 
ently copying  the  lofty  beautiful  words,  in  a  spirit  of 
high  worship,  his  pale  cheeks  flushed  with  his  pious  task. 
I  was  that  scribe!  Why,  I  ask,  was  that  strange  and 
eager  feeling  implanted  in  my  particular  bosom  ?  Could 
it  be  that  in  some  past  age,  I  was  myself  the  scholarly 
Greek  ?  —  But  that  is  nonsense. 

If  only  I  could  pay  my  bills.  Yet  I  dare  not  touch 
the  trifle  Laura  left  to  her  children.  That  must  remain 
for  emergency. 

And  on  May  first  we  must  change  our  quarters.  The 
renting  agent,  a  decent  enough  little  person,  was  very 
apologetic. 

"  I  have  kids  myself,"  he  informed  me  deprecatingly, 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         73 

"and  I  know  what  it  is.  But  you  understand.  A 
bachelor  is  one  thing  and  four  children  is  quite  another. 
Makes  a  difference."  I  told  him  that  I  was  more  or  less 
aware  of  the  difference  it  made. 

"  And  these  people  here,  in  this  here,  now,  building," 
he  explained,  "  they're  so  nasty  nice  —  they  can't  stand 
the  sight  of  a  kid,  let  alone  the  sound."  I  made  no  com- 
ment, for  too  recently  had  I  been  just  so  nasty-nice. 

We  shall  have  to  seek  some  pastures  new. 

Fred  Salmon,  as  good  as  his  word,  has  actually  looked 
me  up. 

I  don't  know  why  the  mere  entry  of  that  breezy  Mo- 
hock into  the  room  brought  my  unwilling  fatherhood 
into  a  relief  ten  times  sharper  than  I  had  felt  it  before. 
I  suddenly  felt  myself  a  gawk  and  a  failure  before  a  man 
of  the  world  —  even  though  I  did  not  wholly  respect  the 
man  of  the  world.  Once  more  I  was  acutely  aware  of 
lost  freedom.  Abstract  Freedom,  out  of  which  I  had 
stepped  as  a  man  steps  from  life  into  death. 

Luckily  Fred  is  not  one  to  beat  about  the  bush. 

:<  You  remember,"  he  began,  skillfully  rotating  the  mu- 
tilated end  of  a  cigar  between  his  teeth,  "  my  telling  you 
at  the  club  the  kind  of  business  you'd  be  suited  for?  " 

"  A  bond  salesman  or  a  dog  fancier,"  I  answered 
promptly. 

"  Have  you  gone  into  anything?  " 

I  replied  in  the  negative. 

"  Well,  I'm  thinking  of  starting  something,"  he  an- 
nounced solemnly. 

"  A  dog  kennel  ?  "  I  queried. 

"  No  —  a  bond  business,  Ran." 

"  I  wish  you  luck,  my  boy,"  I  told  him. 

"  None  of  that  —  "  he  grinned,  "  I  want  you  to  go  in 
with  me." 


74         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

I  gazed  at  him  in  speechless  astonishment. 

"  Have  I  said  a  bellyful  ?  "  he  demanded,  removing  his 
vile  cigar. 

"  A  —  yes,"  I  gasped,  "  and  more." 

"Ha!  That's  the  way  I  am,"  he  laughed.  "Ideas 
come  to  me  and  I  act  upon  them." 

"  But  —  what  have  I  done  —  "I  began,  stammering, 
"  to  deserve  this  —  " 

"  You're  the  man  for  my  money,"  he  erupted  boister- 
ously. "  I  sometimes  make  a  mistake  in  picking  a  horse, 
but  never  in  picking  a  man,  Ranny,  my  boy,  never !  " 

When  Henry  the  Fowler  was  tranquilly  snaring 
finches  and  news  was  suddenly  brought  him  that  he  had 
been  elected  Emperor,  I  doubt  whether  he  had  felt  more 
completely  graveled  than  did  I  at  that  moment  But  to 
be  serious  with  Fred  Salmon  was  just  then  beyond 
me. 

"  You  have  come  to  the  right  man,  this  time,  Fred," 
I  gave  him  back  a  parody  of  his  own  tone,  "  not  a  doubt 
of  it!" 

"  You  bet  I  have,  old  Hoss,"  he  cried,  "  don't  I  know 
it?" 

"  That  is,"  I  went  on,  "  if  fitness,  training,  experience, 
capacity,  predilection  and  abundance  of  capital  are  fac- 
tors, you  have  selected  the  one  man  —  " 

"Yah!"  broke  in  Fred,  "I  know  all  about  that. 
Don't  try  the  sarcastic  with  me,  old  boy.  I  know  all 
you  can  say  and  a  darn  sight  more.  But  I  told  you  it's 
the  cut  of  your  mug  I  want.  What  good  is  the  best 
trained  two-year  old  if  he's  a  hammer-head?  It's  with 
a  man  as  with  a  horse.  You've  got  the  right  look  to 
you  —  and  that's  what  counts !  " 

The  mockery  of  my  thanks  and  all  further  attempts 
at  clumsy  satire  were  utterly  ignored  by  Fred. 

"  You're  comfortably  fixed,  I  know,"  he  said,  rumi- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         75 

natively  scanning  my  books,  which  curiously  suggest 
wealth  to  every  one.  "  But  dash  it  all,  man,  you  must 
want  more  money  for  something  or  other  —  more  books, 
maybe.  Everybody  wants  more  something.  I  know," 
he  ran  on,  "  it  isn't  every  fellah  makes  up  his  mind  on 
the  dot  the  way  I  do.  You've  got  to  turn  it  over  in  your 
so-called  bean,  I  suppose.  All  right.  But  remember  — 
I  don't  take  no  for  answer." 

"  With  that  trifling  limitation,  I  assume,  I  have  a  wide 
liberty  of  choice  ?  "  I  ventured. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  grinned.  "  Outside  the  fact  that  you're 
coming  in,  you  can  go  as  far  as  you  like.  Salmon  and 
Byrd !  "  he  exclaimed  suddenly.  "  How's  that  for  a  firm 
name?  By  gosh!  —  There's  genius  in  it!  May  have 
been  that  which  was  driving  me  to  you.  I  never  go 
wrong.  Salmon  and  Byrd  —  Gad !  It's  so  good  it 
scares  me! " 

"  Salmon  and  Byrd,"  I  repeated  after  him  mechani- 
cally. "  The  menu  strikes  me  as  incomplete  for  a  viveur 
like  you.  Add  a  little  shrimp  salad  —  or  at  least  an 
artichoke." 

He  grinned  but  he  would  none  of  my  flippancy. 

"  No,  no,"  he  wagged  his  head.  "  None  of  that. 
Don't  spoil  a  fine  thing.  It's  —  what  do  they  call  it  — 
sacrilege.  A  good  firm  name  —  it's  half  the  battle.  By 
George!  This  has  been  a  day's  work  for  me.  I  didn't 
know  it  was  going  to  be  so  rich.  We  ought  to  have  a 
dinner  on  it  at  the  Knickerbocker  —  or  Claridge's.  What 
d'you  say?  " 

In  a  flash  I  saw  the  vista  of  Fred's  life  spread  out  be- 
fore me  —  noise  and  laughter,  ventripotent  bouts  with 
costly  dishes  in  expensive  places,  tinkling  glasses  —  the 
world  of  money-making  which  consists  as  much  in 
riotous  expenditure  as  in  half-jocund  half-fanatical  get- 
ting. It  was  to  this  world  that  Fred  was  inviting  me. 


76         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"There  will  be  supper  at  six  o'clock,  if  you  care  to 
stay,"  I  suggested  mildly. 

"  No-no,  thanks,"  said  Fred  reflectively.  "  I'd  like  to. 
But  somehow  not  to-night.  I  couldn't.  Better  come 
along  with  me.  And  we'll  work  out  details." 

I  resisted  his  urging,  however,  and  he  left  me  with 
this  Parthian  arrow: 

"  Think  it  over  as  much  as  you  like,  Randolph,  my 
boy.  But  it's  a  go.  Nothing  you  can  say  against  it  will 
hold  a  candle  to  the  reasons  in  favor.  The  firm  name 
alone  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Consider  it 
settled.  Never  felt  so  sure  of  anything  in  all  my  life. 
So  long,  my  boy.  You'll  hear  from  me." 

He  did  not  even  turn  his  head  when  he  heard  my  burst 
of  almost  hysterical  laughter  as  he  was  closing  the  door. 
Always  heretofore  I  had  counted  myself,  how  humble 
and  insignificant  soever,  as  of  the  priesthood  in  the  tem- 
ple of  fine  things.  It  was  abasing  to  think  that  Fred  had 
claimed  me  for  the  money-changers. 

Never  again  do  I  wish  to  experience  the  martyred 
minutes  of  anguish  that  I  have  passed  through  during  the 
last  twenty- four  hours. 

For  some  reason  that  none  can  explain  Jimmie  sud- 
denly came  down  with  a  fever.  That  bright  little  whorl 
of  life  all  at  once  looked  white,  refused  his  food  with 
the  pallid  pitiful  smile  of  an  octogenarian  and,  in  a 
twinkling  it  seemed,  his  cheeks  were  burning,  his  eyes 
glittered  dryly  and  his  lips  were  parched.  Called  to  his 
bedside,  I  leaned  over  him  and  the  air  about  me  seemed 
to  darken.  Laura's  child  was,  I  believed,  dangerously 
ill.  The  heart  within  me  turned  leaden  and  even  Gris- 
elda  displayed  alarm.  Then  and  there  I  vowed  inwardly 
that  no  strangers  should  have  the  care  of  this  child  if  he 
recovered,  so  long  as  I  could  care  for  him  myself. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         77 

The  nearest  doctor,  who  occupies  a  ground-floor  apart- 
ment below,  a  brute  of  a  man  of  thirty-five  or  so,  elected, 
when  he  came  up,  to  look  wise  and  inscrutable.  Calm 
and  grave,  he  prescribed  oil  and  with  a  murmured,  "  We 
shall  see  in  the  morning  "  he  left  me  in  an  agony  of  doubt 
and  anxiety. 

The  only  person  who  exhibited  any  degree  of  calm 
was  Alicia.  And  though  she  is  still  a  child  herself  I 
confess  to  a  feeling  of  resentment  against  what  seemed 
to  me  callousness  in  the  face  of  our  perturbation.  I  saw 
visions  of  any  number  of  diseases,  of  being  quarantined, 
of  Jimmie's  possible  death,  of  my  bearing  forevermore 
a  feeling  of  nameless  guilt  before  Laura's  memory.  I 
told  them  I  should  sit  up  the  night. 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Byrd,"  insisted  the  girl  with  sudden 
vehemence.  "  Don't  do  that.  I'll  make  up  a  place  in 
the  dining  room  and  leave  the  door  of  their  room  open. 
I'll  hear  him  if  he  wakes." 

"  I'm  afraid,  Alicia,  you  don't  take  this  seriously 
enough,"  I  told  her  sternly.  She  looked  at  me  wistfully 
for  a  moment  and  then  faintly  smiled. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do,"  she  answered.  "  But  it's  no  use  our 
all  wearing  ourselves  out  at  once  if  it's  real  sickness. 
But  I  don't  think  it's  anything  much." 

"  How  can  you  know  ?  "  I  demanded  suspiciously. 

"  I  just  think  so,"  she  asserted.  "  At  the  Home 
children  were  always  coming  down  like  this.  The  next 
day  they  were  as  well  as  ever  again." 

"  But  this  is  not  the  Home,"  I  retorted  severely.  The 
girl  flushed.  I  saw  I  had  hurt  her. 

"  But  he's  a  child,"  she  insisted  doggedly,  in  a  low 
voice.  I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  shall  sit  up  in  the  study,"  I  told  her,  "  with  the 
door  open.  I  shall  hear  him  if  he  calls.  You'd  better 
go  to  bed." 


78         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Her  great  haunting  eyes  looked  at  me  for  an  instant 
and  she  left  me.  In  the  study  I  lighted  a  fire,  drew  up 
the  large  chair,  lighted  a  cigarette  and  in  dressing1  gown 
and  slippers  composed  myself  for  the  night,  determined 
to  spend  it  waking. 

In  my  mind  were  revolving  many  things.  Fred  Sal- 
mon's absurd  proposal,  the  strange  trick  of  circumstances 
that  had  suddenly  made  me  responsible  for  a  houseful  of 
children,  the  whereabouts  of  Dibdin,  the  amazing  multi- 
plicity of  bills,  the  little  lad's  burning  fever.  Drowsiness 
began  to  assault  my  eyelids  before  the  glowing  fire.  To 
combat  it,  I  took  down  that  sonata  in  words,  Conrad's 
"  The  Nigger  of  the  Narcissus  ",  and  reread  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  Cape  storm,  which  is  not  a  description  so 
much  as  the  expression  of  the:  storm  itself.  As  always 
in  reading  that  book,  I  was  overawed  to  the  point  of  pain 
by  what  language  can  do.  And  pondering  upon  that, 
I  allowed  myself  to  doze  off  for  a  few  seconds.  Sud- 
denly I  awoke  with  a  tremor  and  looked  at  my  watch. 
To  my  amazement  it  was  half -past  six  in  the  morning. 

Abjectly  guilty,  I  stole  out  and  tiptoed  into  the  dining 
room.  The  light  was  burning.  I  saw  three  chairs  with 
a  crumpled  pillow  upon  them  and  Alicia,  smiling 
drowsily,  was  gliding  out  of  the  children's  room. 

"  How  is  he  now  ?  "  I  asked  in  a  muffled  tone,  think- 
ing basely  to  give  her  the  idea  that  I  had  watched  the 
night  through. 

"Sleeping  quietly,"  was  the  reply.  "His  fever  is 
mostly  gone." 

"  That's  splendid,"  I  murmured  sheepishly.  "  You 
are  up  —  er  —  early,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  just  lay  here  on  these  chairs,"  she  answered  quietly. 
"  I  looked  in  at  Jimmie  about  every  half  hour.  He  had 
a  very  good  night."  With  a  sharp  pang  of  annoyance 
mingled  with  relief,  I  felt  myself  stark  and  unmasked. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         79 

We  gazed  at  each  other  in  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then 
I  broke  into  muffled  laughter,  in  which  she  softly  joined. 
And  though  I  felt  myself  a  fool,  I  vow  I  could  have 
hugged  that  child  to  my  heart  of  hearts  for  her  sense  of 
humor  no  less  than  for  her  silent  unfailing  constancy. 

Like  sunlight  after  storm,  Jimmie's  recovery  is  making 
the  apartment  ring  again,  and  when  it  rings  ioo-  much  I 
close  my  door. 

I  close  my  door,  but  not  upon  the  bills.  These  keep 
pouring  in  with  the  insistent  buzzing  of  a  swarm  of  hor- 
nets, and  every  day  I  see  them  with  a'  more  helqjess  dis- 
may. I  figure  and  I  add  and  I  calculate,  but  I  seem  un- 
able to  subtract  I  cannot  see  how  we  could  do  without 
the  things  that  are  bought.  Already  my  modest  current 
account  is  near  the  point  of  exhaustion  and  nothing  can 
possibly  come  in  before  April. 

To-day,  in  my  perplexity,  I  took  an  elevated  train  and 
journeyed  southward  into  the  region  of  money.  What 
I  should  do  there  I  hardly  knew,  but  a  nameless  inner 
necessity  seemed  to  be  driving  me  to  do  something.  I 
had  a  vague  notion  of  consulting  with  Carmichael.  But 
when  I  came  into  lower  Broadway  and  was  actually  at 
Carmichael's  door,  I  fled  in  disgust  with  myself  for  the 
sufficiently  transparent  reason  that  I  really  had  nothing 
to  say  to  him.  I  felt  like  a  debutant  pickpocket  who 
turns  back  abruptly  from  the  threshold  of  his  calling  be- 
cause he  realizes  the  absence  of  a  vocation  or  is  overcome 
by  cowardice. 

In  the  street  I  looked  upon  the  driving  masses  of  peo- 
ple, swarming,  streaming,  with  strained  faces,  urged  on 
by  invisible  whips  of  need,  of  desire,  driven  like  the  souls 
in  Dante's  hell  by  demoniac  powers  who  ever  cry,  "  Pay 
your  way !  pay  your  way !  "  They  did  not  hear  the  cry 
now,  the  continual  snapping  of  the  infernal  whips,  but 


80         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

I  heard  them  and  I  quaked  inwardly.  To  .myself  I 
fancied  the  most  of  these  surging  figures  upon  a  level  of 
life  that  has  few  problems,  that  is  always  "  happy  "  with 
the  dull  unexultant  happiness  of  the  slave  or  the  captive, 
coming  briskly  to  the  office  of  a  morning  with  a  sort  of 
tarnished  metallic  gayety,  lunching  at  Childs'  or  at  a 
counter  unprovided  with  stools,  clinging  to  a  strap  in  a 
car  jammed  with  their  kind,  visiting  a  motion-picture 
"  palace  "  in  the  evening  and  living  within  their  incomes 
because  they  must.  And  though'  all  the  rest  was  abhor- 
rent, that  last  detail  made  me  envy  them. 

Pay  your  way !  Pay  your  way !  The  cry  was  beating 
in  my  pulses  as  I  came  away,  droning  in  the  car  wheels 
as  I  traveled  northward,  dully  insistent  in  the  very  noises 
of  the  streets  about  me. 

Once  within  my  own  door  the  warmth  enveloped  me 
like  summer  air  and  with  the  warmth  came  the  joyous 
laughter  of  the  children  playing  in  the  dining  room.  In 
a  bubbling  of  happy  turbulence  they  came  rushing  toward 
me  as  I  looked  in  upon  them,  demanding  that  I  judge  be- 
tween them  on  the  rules  of  their  game. 

"Just  because  she's  a  girl,"  complained  Randolph 
loudly,  indicating  Laura,  "  she  always  wants  to  be 
queen." 

"  It  isn't  because  I'm  a  girl,"  broke  in  Laura,  panting. 
"  It's  because  it's  fair.  Boys  never  want  to  be  fair, 
Uncle  Ranny,  that's  what's  the  matter.  He's  been  king 
for  half  an  hour  and  he  always  wants  us  to  do  impossible 
things  so  he  can  be  king  forever." 

"  And  I  want  to  be  king,  too,"  loudly  proclaimed 
Jimmie. 

I  suppressed  the  nascent  revolt  as  best  I  could  and 
soothed  the  passions  of  pretenders.  I  reminded  them 
that  this  was  a  democracy  and  that  royalty  in  our  land 
could  count  only  upon  a  visitor's  welcome. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         81 

"  Aw,  don't  I  know  ?  "  said  Randolph  fiercely.  "  I 
wouldn't  be  really  truly  king  for  anything." 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  enter  from  the  turmoil  of 
the  outer  world  to  this  playing  fountain  of  affectionate 
young  life.  Jimmie,  Laura,  Randolph,  little  glimmers 
of  spark-like  personality  were  fitfully  flickering  over 
their  childish  heads  and  it  was  my  task  to  turn  them  into 
steady  flames.  That  was  what  I  owed  to  my  sister 
Laura  and  that  was  the  course  upon  which  I  was  irrev- 
ocably embarked.  But  now,  alone  in  my  study,  I  still 
hear  in  the  hum  and  rumor  of  the  streets  the  insistent 
imperative  cry,  Pay  your  way !  Pay  your  way ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  incredible  has  happened.  No,  not  the  incredible. 
The  incredible  is  always  happening.  It  is  the  impossible 
that  has  taken  place. 

I,  Randolph  Byrd,  am  now  a  business  man  —  no  priest 
of  the  temple,  but  a  brazen  money-changer  as  ever  was. 

The  hum  and  the  noise  and  rattle  of  it  are  perpetually 
in  my  ears  like  the  whirr  of  machinery  in  the  brain  of 
the  factory  hand.  I  cannot  think  or  put  myself  in  the 
moods  of  thought.  The  sound  of  the  ticker  is  constantly 
in  my  head,  and  my  nerves  crave  movement. 

Fred  Salmon  has  accomplished  his  will. 

''  You  must  stir  it  and  stump  it  and  blow  your  own 
trumpet,"  is  his  motto,  and  he  is  teaching  me  to  blow. 
The  firm  of  Salmon  and  Byrd  is  an  actuality  and  clown- 
ishly  Fred  is  making  the  most  of  the  humor  of  the  name 
and  doing  his  best  to  make  me  abet  him.  I  say  Fred 
has  accomplished  it  all.  But  at  the  bottom  it  is  Laura's 
children  who  are  innocently  the  primal  cause  of  my 
debacle. 

"  D'you  know  what  you  are?  "  Fred  shot  at  me  to-day 
in  a  flash  of  inspiration  —  he  is  dowered  with  a  fecundity 
of  flashes  these  days.  "  You  are  the  original  Old  Man 
Who  Lived  in  a  Shoe !  It's  the  kids  that  made  you  get 
into  the  game.  Gosh !  I  wish  we  could  get  that  fact  on 
our  letterhead !  " 

With  Fred  to  think  of  an  idiotic  notion  is  to  utter 
and  commit  it.  And  I  live  in  constant  dread  lest  some 
of  our  customers  and  clients,  a  sporadic  body  as  yet, 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         83 

should  inquire  as  to  the  children  with  which  I  know  not 
what  to  do.  Fred  is  an  Elizabethan.  In  the  spacious 
days  he  would  have  ruffed  and  strutted  and  wenched 
and  taken  chances  with  careless  slashing  humor  among 
the  best  or  the  worst  of  them.  He  is  a  buccaneer  who 
can  throw  the  dice  with  jovial  laughter  when  things  loom 
blackest  under  the  very  guns  of  disaster.  He  is  an 
enigma.  He  is,  in  short,  my  exact  opposite. 

Yet  he  has  made  me  his  partner  and  accomplice.  I 
used  to  think  myself  adamant,  but  in  his  hands  I  am 
clay. 

It  is  now  late  in  March.  The  cold  blasts  are  often 
succeeded  by  genial  days  of  brilliant  sunshine  that  al- 
ready promise  the  birth  of  a  new  spring.  How  much  I 
should  delight  in  the  flower  market  near  the  Laurentian 
or  in  walking  up  the  hill  toward  Fiesole  past  the  fairy- 
like  Florentine  villas,  or  strolling  in  the  Lungarno  and 
across  the  Ponte  Vecchio  to  San  Miniato  —  to  the  Pitti 

—  the  Uffizi  —  the  gentle  air  of  Fra  Angelico's  cloisters 

—  what  absurd  fancies !  .  .  .  I  am  in  wintry  New  York, 
yoked  to  a  broker,  or  as  the  letterhead  styles  us  —  In- 
vestment Bankers.     And  though  we  have  received  no 
cables  as  yet,  we  are  equipped  with  a  fascinating  code 
cable  address,  which  is  "  Sambyrd !  "     There  is  no  end 
to  our  grandeur. 

Sambyrd!  How  it  all  came  about  is  still  swathed  in 
a  sort  of  semi-transparent  mystery  for  me  —  semi-trans- 
parent, for  even  now  I  do  see  one  thing  clearly:  My 
income  was  hopelessly  inadequate  to  the  rearing  of  three 
children  and  my  capital  was  already  invaded.  With  the 
capital  gone  what  was  there  left  for  me  but  addressing 
envelopes,  the  children  in  a  Home  like  that  which  Alicia 
came  from  and  general  collapse  and  catastrophe! 

And  then  there  was  Fred's  enthusiasm. 

"  Money,"   said  he  sententiously,   "  is  a  very  simple 


84         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

matter.  It  won't  come  rolling  to  you  of  its  own  accord, 
but  you  can  get  it.  Every  one  must  find  his  own  way. 
This  is  my  way  —  Salmon  and  Byrd.  Will  you  join  me 
and  make  it  your  way,  too  ?  " 

And  I,  struggling  like  a  fish  in  a  net,  like  a  bird  in  a 
snare,  like  any  beast  caught  in  a  trap,  could  discern  no 
way  of  my  own. 

"  But  what,"  I  demanded  in  a  sort  of  despairing  in- 
dignation, "  can  I  do  at  that  business?  " 

"  You  can  learn,"  said  Fred.  "  And  you'll  be  making 
something  before  you  know  it.  And  as  we  grow  you'll 
make  more." 

And  then  I  made  the  startling  discovery  that  there  are 
no  parallels  in  life.  Writers  may  babble  of  types  and 
statisticians  of  means  and  averages  and  populations  of 
facts,  but  I  realized  with  pain  that  with  all  my  books 
I  knew  of  no  guide  or  inspiration.  The  case  of  every 
blessed  one  of  us  is  unique.  I  could  think  of  no  one  in 
precisely  my  own  circumstances.  A  pathetic,  dejected 
melancholy  overcame  me  at  my  fatal  tardiness  in  learn- 
ing that  the  world,  like  a  hungry  beast,  was  clamoring 
for  decisions.  "  Decide !  Decide !  Decide !  "  it  seems 
to  roar  with  slavering  jaws,  "  or  I  devour  you!  And  if 
you  don't  decide  I  shall  still  devour  you."  The  drifters 
perish  without  a  struggle.  I  had  drifted  heretofore  but 
now  I  must  flagellate  the  will  for  a  choice. 

And  so  I  yielded. 

The  half  of  my  capital  has  already  gone  into  our 
offices,  and  if  chairs,  desks  and  tables  will  make  for  suc- 
cess we  shall  both  be  millionaires.  There  are  magnifi- 
cent leather  sofas  such  as  I  never  dreamed  of  lolling  on, 
but  discussions  and  transactions  of  money,  it  seems-,  must 
be  done  within  walls  padded  with  luxury.  Money 
breeds  money,  Fred  is  ever  telling  me,  and  even  as  bees 
are  attracted  by  honey,  so  the  opulent  investors  will  flock 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         85 

to  our  richly  fitted  hive.  The  droning  of  the  ticker  and 
the  sound  of  a  typewriter  are  the  only  noises  permissible, 
and  the  smoke  of  cigars  must  be  the  most  fragrant. 

I  hardly  know  why  I  should  be  ironic.  Never  before 
have  I  derived  so  much  amusement  in  a  short  space  of 
time.  There  was  the  entrance  of  our  first  customer, 
Signor  Visconti.  He  came,  this  enterprising  Milanese, 
in  response  to  one  of  the  hundreds  of  individual  circular 
letters  we  sent  out  to  small  banks  and  jnvestors,  on  mag- 
nificent stationery,  announcing  our  rare  bargains  in  se- 
curities so  safe  that  the  rock  of  Gibraltar  was-  pasteboard 
by  comparison,  so  gilt-edged  that  only  the  best  of  govern- 
ment paper  could  dare  to  crackle  in  their  presence;  so 
remunerative  that  —  anyway,  Mr.  Visconti,  admirably 
dressed,  came  in. 

The  young  woman  who  brought  in  his  name  had  been 
drilled  not  to  seem  flustered.  Fred  flushed  purple  with 
pleasure  and  executed  a  brief  but  exquisite  war  dance  on 
the  rug. 

"  Tell  him  I  shall  see  him  directly,"  he  murmured  to 
the  young  woman  and  sprawled  on  the  leather  chair  be- 
side me  in  his  triumph. 

"  Why  don't  you  see  him  then  ? "  I  could  not  help 
asking. 

"  Wouldn't  do,"  Fred  wagged  his  head  mysteriously. 
"  Must  keep  him  waiting  at  least  a  minute  or  two  — 
though  I'm  burning  up  to  get  my  talons  into  him." 

I  laughed  at  him. 

"  Now  this  is  what  you  do,  my  boy,"  Fred  gave  me 
quick  instruction  in  the  hushed  voice  of  a  conspirator. 
"  A  minute  or  so  after  I  leave  you,  you  take  your  hat 
and  coat  and  pass  through  the  room  where  I'm  talking  to 
him.  I  won't  notice  you.  When  you're  nearly  at  the 
door,  I'll  call  you  back.  You'll  be  in  a  hurry,  but  you'll 
come  back.  I'll  introduce  you  to  Mr.  Visconti,  then  I'll 


86         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

say  confidential-like,  but  loud  enough  for  him  to  hear, 
*  You  going  out  about  those  bonds  ? '  '  Yes/  you  an- 
swer, '  but  I'll  be  back  soon.'  '  While  you're  about  it/ 
I'll  say,  'you  can  tell  Spifkins  we  can  let  him  have  that 
two-hundred  thousand  on  call  at  four  and  three  quar- 
ters.' You  just  nod  quickly,  like  a  busy  man,  salute  Mr. 
Visconti  and  out  you  go." 

"  Where  —  do  I  go?  "  I  stammered  in  a  daze. 

"  You  go  to  a  telephone  booth  downstairs  in  the  lobby 
and  you  call  me  up  on  the  wire.  And  don't  be  surprised 
at  anything  I  say  until  I  hang  up.  Then  you  can  walk 
round  the  block  and  come  back.  Is  that  clear  ?  " 

"  Clear  as  an  asphalt  pavement,"  I  answered  in  my  be- 
wilderment. 

"  That's  all  right  then,"  he  grinned  and  left  me. 

Complying  with  his  absurd  charge,  nevertheless,  I  was 
duly  introduced  to  the  well-dressed,  well-fed,  deep-hued 
Italian  banker  f  ropi  Macdougal  Street  and  made  my  way 
to  the  telephone  booth  in  the  lobby  of  the  building  below. 
And  this  is  what  I  heard  in  Fred's  most  suave  and  in- 
gratiating tone. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,  Mr.  Ferris  —  always  glad  to  hear 
from  a  customer.  Ah  —  yes,  Mr.  Ferris.  We  can  still 
let  you  have  those  bonds.  Though  in  reality  they  are 
sold  to  another  client.  But  I  think  we  can  give  him 
something  just  as  good  that  will  suit  him  equally  well. 
Yes,  that  will  be  all  right.  A  hundred  thousand,  wasn't 
it?  Well,  well  —  ha!  ha!  Better  late  than  never. 
Don't  let  that  bother  you.  Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Ferris.  Send 
them  over  to  your  office  as  soon  as  my  partner  comes 
back.  I  am  a  lit.tle,  busy  now  with  a  customer.  Oh, 
don't  mention  it,  don't  mention  it!  Eh?  Why,  yes  — 
thanks.  At  the,  Waldorf  about  five,  then.  Ta-ta." 
And  he  hung  up  the  receiver. 

For  a   moment   I    stood   speechless   in   the   steaming 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         87 

booth  with  the  telephone  receiver  in  my  hands  and  then 
I  staggered  out,  shaken  by  helpless  laughter. 

When  I  returned,  Visconti,  smiling  broadly,  was  in  the 
process  of  being  ushered  out  by  Fred  with  warm  ex- 
changes of  amiabilities.  We  all  shook  hands  on  the 
threshold  in  a  cordial  flurry  of  busy  enthusiasm  and  a 
moment  later  Fred  and  I  were  alone. 

"  Just  sold  that  fine  peach  of  a  Guinea  ten  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  Hesperus  Power  bonds,"  chuckled  Fred 
in  irrepressible  glee. 

"  But  where,"  I  demanded,  "  did  you  get  the  bonds  to 
sell?" 

"  Haven't  got  them  yet,"  he  paced  the  room  in  nervous 
jubilation.  "  But  we'll  get  them  in  a  jiffy  —  at  the  Na- 
tional City  Bank.  They've  got  lots  of  'em  over  there." 

Something  dark  and  heavy  and  cold  seemed  to  have 
dropped  inside  of  me  upon  the  vital  parts,  and  chilled  me 
for  an  instant. 

"  So  this  is  this  kind  of  a  business?  "  I  muttered. 

"  This  is  the  way  this  kind  of  a  business  begins,"  he 
replied  composed Jy. 

That  interlude  of  actual  business  after  the  ferocious 
activity  of  renting,  equipping  and  furnishing  an  office, 
getting  stationery  printed  and  engraved,  installing  a 
ticker,  making  that  mysterious  body  of  connections  that 
was  Fred's  province,  was  sufficiently  exhilarating  to  make 
me  accept  it  without  much  scrutiny.  After  all,  what 
could  I  do?  This  was  the  furrow  in  which  my  plow 
was  set  and  ihis,  I  suppose,  is  the  custom  of  the  country. 

"  How,"  I  could  not  help  wonderingly  asking,  "  did 
you  land  the  effulgent  Visconti  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  a  good  scout,"  explained  Fred.  "  He  runs 
a  banking  house  for  his  fellow  dagoes  in  Macdougal 
Street.  He  saw  we  were  new  and  he  likes  to  give  young 
fellows  a  chance.  He  was  quite  frank.  You  see,  it's 


88         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

nothing  for  the  big  houses  to  sell  ten  bonds  or  so.  But 
he  knows  that  to  us  just  opening  up  it  means  a  lot  more 
than  the  commission.  It  means  a  Sale.  Oh,  he's  a 
sport,  all  right" 

"  That  surprises  me  more  than  I  can  say,"  I  told  him. 

"  There  are  some  good-hearted  brutes  even  in  this 
business,"  growled  Fred,  "  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

"  Do  you  think,"  I  asked  with  a  twinge  of  shame,  "  he 
saw  through  your  telephoning  business  and  that  rigma- 
role of  yours  to  me  in  the  booth  ?  " 

"  Damn  if  I  don't  think  he  did !  "  roared  Fred.  "  But 
never  mind.  He's  a  sport.  And  some  day,  when  we're 
big  guns,  we'll  show  him  that  we  appreciate  his  hand-out 
by  putting  him  on  to  something  good  —  see  if  we  don't !  " 

I  felt  as  shamefaced  as  though  we  had  committed  a 
felony.  Yet  I  suppose  that  this  is  the  ordinary  compara- 
tively innocent  chicane  of  even  honest  business,  remnants 
of  oriental  chaffering  and  huckstering  that  still  survive. 
I  am  hoping  we  shall  grow  out  of  it.  Though  at  times 
I  suspect  a  certain  flamboyancy  of  temperament  in  Fred 
that  makes  him  resort  to  such  shifts  rather  than  not. 

A  man  who  had  purchased  some  bonds  called  up  and 
inquired  whether  we  would  take  them  back.  There  was 
no  reason  for  Fred's  offering  anything  but  an  endeavor 
to  dispose  of  them.  But  instead  his  grandiose  reply 
was: 

"  Why,  certainly  we  shall  take  those  bonds  back,  Mr. 
Smith  —  and  as  many  more  of  them  as  you've  got. 
Yes,  bring  them  down  by  all  means." 

Once  he  had  hung  up  the  receiver  he  turned  toward 
me  with  blank  dismay,  muttering: 

"  Now  what  the  hell  shall  we  do  with  those  things  ?  " 

I  own  to  a  flash  of  genuine  anger  at  his  imbecile  un- 
truthfulness. 

"  You  don't  know  what  to  do?  "  I  spluttered.     "  Then 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         89 

why  on  earth  did  you  speak  as  though  you  had  a  dozen 
buyers  waiting  in  a  row  ?  " 

"  Because  that's  business,"  he  tried  to  shout  me  down. 
"  That  devil  will  have  more  confidence  in  us  if  we  let  him 
go  back  on  his  bargain  than  if  he  made  a  lot  of  money 
on  it.  Don't  you  know  human  nature  ?  " 

"  Not  human  nature  like  that,"  I  retorted  bitterly. 
"  Tell  me  what  you  are  going  to  do  about  it." 

"  Let's  get  on  the  telephone,  both  of  us,"  he  spoke 
cheerfully,  "  and  each  call  up  as  many  people  as  we  can 
and  offer  them  those  bonds  before  that  weak  sister  gets 
here." 

"  A  desperate  remedy,"  I  growled  irritably.  "  Let  me 
see  you  do  it." 

Fred  lighted  a  cigar  and  gazed  out  of  the  window. 
When  he  turned  his  face  was  suave  and  benignant.  He 
looked  like  nothing  so  much  as  a  man  about  to  fill  a  row 
of  Christmas  stockings.  Then  he  betook  himself  to  the 
telephone.  In  a  cheerful,  friendly,  lingering  voice  he 
began  to  offer  his  gift  to  one  after  another  of  his  list  as 
though  an  inward  and  spiritual  grace  were  moving  him 
irresistibly  to  benefaction.  His  face  was  on  a  broad 
grin  even  under  a  series  of  repeated  refusals.-  and  I  con- 
fess to  experiencing  a  sort  of  truculent  joy  at  what  I  be- 
lieved to  be  his  discomfiture.  His  accents,  however, 
never  lost  their  velvety  quality  nor  did  he  betray  by  a 
single  note  any  trace  of  disappointment.  On  the  con- 
trary he  was  warming  to  his  work  with  a  keen  gusto. 
On  a  sudden  the  young  woman  at  the  telephone  outside 
informed  him  that  he  was  being  called.  He  listened. 

"  Mr.  Smith?  "  he  answered  mildly.  "  Hello!  Bring- 
ing us  those  bonds?  What?  Decided  to  keep  them, 
after  all  ?  Well,  well,"  with  a  laugh,  "  the  Lord  be  with 
you  then,  Mr.  Smith.  We  could  have  sold  them  ten 
times  over  since  you  first  called  me.  No,  no.  It  doesn't 


90         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

matter.  I'll  find  something  else  for  the  others.  You're 
mighty  wise,  Mr.  Smith  —  I'll  hand  that  to  you.  No, 
it's  all  right.  Come  and  see  us.  Good-by  —  good-by, 
sir!" 

When  he  turned  away  from  the  telephone  the  perspira- 
tion beaded  his  forehead  and  puffy  cheeks  and  he  grinned 
genially. 

"  Whew,"  he  whistled,  passing  a  handkerchief  over  his 
face.  "  That  was  great  fun.  But  why  do  they  want  to 
break  in  on  the  innocent  morning  with  things  like  that! 
Well,  that's  how  it  is,  Randolph,  my  boy,"  he  added 
lightly  and  turned  away  to  other  things.  In  his  way 
Fred  compels  my  admiration.  For  this  is  only  one  in- 
stance of  many,  one  thread  in  the  texture  of  our  daily 
life.  How  I  long  to  read  a  few  pages  of  "  Urn  Burial  " 
in  order  to  forget  it  all ! 

It  is  too  soon  to  know  whether  or  not  we  are  a  success. 
But  we  are  each  of  us  drawing  a  small  salary  and  to  me 
that  is  an  immediate  help. 

What  a  curious  jumble  is  our  life!  Forces  strange 
and  awe-inspiring,  the  very  stars  in  their  courses  seem  to 
be  defending  Laura's  children,  lest  I  should  do  them  an 
injury.  But  in  order  to  keep  them  and  rear  them  I  must 
resort  to  a  kind  of  olla-podrida  of  backstairs  shifts  and 
devices,  such  as  I  have  described,  that  make  my  cheek 
burn.  But  I  suppose  it  is  as  Dibdin  says :  We  are  all 
the  ministers  and  retinue,  be  it  in  court  dress  or  in  tinsel 
and  livery,  of  that  exalted  prince  of  the  world,  the  child. 
For  me,  however,  it  is  still  a  struggle  to  grasp  that 
ineluctable  truth.  Perhaps  as  a  reward  for  this,  as  a 
sort  of  pourboire  of  Fate,  I  shall  become  gruesomely 
rich,  a  kind  of  Maecenas,  an  orgulous  figure  among 
scholars,  and  finance  some  new  Tudor  or  early  English 
texts  or  latter-day  collections  of  the  classics  ? 

My  pipe  has  gone  out.     I  have  taken  to  puffing  a  pipe 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         91 

in  a  manner  that  would  delight  the  soul  of  Dibdin. 
Dibdin !  Every  day  I  expect  to  hear  from  him,  but  still 
my  expectation  is  vain.  The  children  are  all  abed  and 
I  sit  here  filled  with  a  sense  that  I  am  responsible  for  all 
of  them,  sleeping  and  waking,  for  their  nourishment  and 
existence,  for  all  this  machinery  that  keeps  the  six  of  us 
going,  and  the  thought  fills  me  with  awe  —  and  yet  there 
is  a  kind  of  pleasant  sense  of  pride  in  it,  too.  Dibdin 
would  say  that  I  reminded  him  of  a  broody  hen,  and 
Dibdin  would  be  right.  A  broody  hen  is  a  model  of  re- 
sponsibility for  all  mankind. 

Yet  though  I  cannot  look  with  young-eyed  confidence 
upon  all  of  this,  or  upon  my  enterprise  with  Fred,  I  can 
hardly  resist  a  feeling  that  something  of  the  youth  and 
manhood  I  have  spent  as  a  solitary  among  books,  some- 
thing stirring  and  effervescent  that  I  have  suppressed,  is 
struggling  for  an  outlet.  Fred's  methods  of  business, 
though  I  wince  at  some  of  them,  fill  me  with  gusts  of  ir- 
resistible laughter.  His  constant  horseplay  and  good 
humor  are  infectious. 

To-day  he  came  to  me  with  a  grave  countenance  and 
informed  me  that  Sampson  and  Company,  a  house  from 
which  we  sometimes  buy  a  few  bonds,  desired  to  know 
whether  we  would  join  them  in  underwriting  the  Rou- 
manian loan. 

"And  what  did  you  say?"  I  inquired  with  equal 
gravity. 

"  Naturally  I  told  him  I  must  consult  my  partner." 

"  What  did  they  say  to  that?  " 

'  Oh,  sure/  he  said,  '  but  it  isn't  a  large  loan  —  only 
fifteen  millions.  All  we  want  you  to  take  is  about  three 
millions.' ' 

I  looked  at  him  quizzically. 

"  Well,  what  d'you  say,  partner,  shall  we  take  it  ?  " 

I  scrutinized  his  baffling  expression  and  roared  with 


92         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

laughter.  He  joined  me,  laughing,  until  the  tears 
trickled  down  his  cheeks. 

"  But  look  here,"  he  began,  the  flamboyancy  of  his 
manner  persisting  even  in  private,  "  three  millions  isn't 
so  much  —  and  the  profit  would  be  large." 

So  long  as  it  was  horseplay  I  enjoyed  the  joke.  But 
with  Fred  the  barrier  between  jest  and  earnest  is  very 
thin,  often  indistinguishable. 

"  Don't  talk  rot,"  I  told  him.  "  Do  you  want  a  short 
cut  to  bankruptcy  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  would  be  in  a  great  cause,"  he  grinned. 
"  Got  to  help  dear  old  Roumania !  "  And  humming  a 
musical-comedy  tune,  he  left  me.  But  I  am  still  con- 
scious of  a  dread  lest  Fred,  in  some  moment  of  irresis- 
tible magnificence,  should  commit  poor  little  Salmon  and 
Byrd  to  the  devil  or  the  deep. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TODAY  is  a  red-letter  day  for  me.  The  red  letter 
came  from  Dibdin.  As  a  matter  of  fact  his  brief  scrawl 
in  the  peculiar,  heavy,  unadorned  script  which  I  love  is 
written  on  the  minutely  ruled  paper  and  in  the  violet  ink 
of  the  Hotel  de  France  at  Papeete.  But  it  was  so  de- 
lightfully cheering  to  see  his  dear  old  fist  again  —  almost 
like  seeing  the  man  himself.  The  sheet  is  dated  more 
than  two  months  ago,  and  postmarked  San  Francisco 
six  days  ago.  I  wonder  what  brute  intrusted  with  mail- 
ing it  has  carried  it  about  in  his  pocket. 

Without  a  word  of  preamble  it  begins  in  Dibdin's 
abrupt  manner. 

"  I've  got  you  on  my  mind.  How  are  the  kids  pros- 
pering —  and  you,  old  bookworm  ?  I've  picked  up  some- 
thing for  you  even  out  here  —  a  first  edition  of  Balzac's 
*  Pere  Goriot ',  somewhat  fly-blown  and  the  worse  for 
wear,  but  intact  all  the  same.  I  won't  intrust  it  to  the 
mails.  I'll  bring  it  to  you. 

"  I  am  enclosing  a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars.  Now 
don't  be  an  idiot,  however  difficult  that  may  prove.  I 
know  all  you  can  say,  and  believe  me  it  isn't  worth  a 
damn.  Use  it  in  some  way  for  the  kids  and  make  me 
feel  happy  out  here  among  the  wrecks  and  loafers  of 
white  humanity.  I  wish  you  could  come  out  here  some 
day  and  see  to  what  creatures  that  once  were  white  men 
will  stoop  just  to  avoid  a  linle  work.  However,  that's 
by  the  way.  I  count  on  you  to  do  as  I  ask  or  you'll  make 
me  sore. 


94         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  The  blessed  old  tub  I  came  out  in  sails  for  Suva  in 
three  days.  And  from  Suva  I  go  to  the  Marquesas. 
You'll  hear  from  me  again  before  long.  If  you  want  to 
take  a  chance  and  write  me,  the  Hotel  de  France,  Pa- 
peete, is  still  the  best  address  I  can  offer  you.  Yours, 
Dibdin." 

That  was  all  —  after  months  of  waiting.  I  wish  the 
old  fellow  enjoyed  writing  letters  a  little  more  than  he 
seems  to.  Nevertheless  I  was  delighted.  The  irre- 
pressible tramp !  He  speaks  of  the  Marquesas  as  if  they 
were  around  the  corner. 

As  to  his  check,  my  first  impulse  was  to  destroy  it 
immediately.  I  shall  keep  it,  however,  as  a  memento  of 
Dibdin's  absurd  generosity  of  spirit.  It  would  have  to 
be  some  desperate  need  that  would  ever  compel  me  to  use 
it.  Dibdin  little  dreams  of  Salmon  and  Byrd. 

I  called  in  the  children  to  show  them  the  letter.  And 
though  they  were  less  excited  about  it  than  I  was,  they 
seemed  delighted  at  the  fact  that  after  a  day  in  the  office 
I  should  appear  gay  and  cheerful  instead  of  weary  and 
careworn.  Care  is  the  badge  of  incomplete  lives.  And 
what  I  needed  was  a  letter  from  Dibdin. 

A  breath  of  the  wide  world  has  come  to  me  with  that 
pleasant  burly  note,  of  other-worldiness,  of  freedom,  of 
rovings  and  wanderings,  something  of  the  zest  I  used  to 
feel.  I  used  to  feel  myself  (or  so  I  think)  strung  like 
a  lute,  sensitive  to  every  breath  and  sign  of  beauty,  to 
all  the  subtle  tunes  of  life.  My  nerves  are  duller  now, 
responsive  only  to  the  obvious.  In  the  inverted  world 
of  business  I  suppose  that  is  progress.  Dibdin's  letter 
has  brought  back  something  of  my  old  self,  at  least  a 
nostalgia  of  other  days. 

And  here  my  conscience  smites  me.  It  is  long  since  I 
have  seen  Gertrude.  I  must  rectify  that  omission  at 
once.  After  all,  Gertrude  has  been  patience  itself  with 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         95 

my  vagaries.  And  the  thought  of  the  old  freedom  is 
struck  through  with  the  years  of  her  friendship.  Ger- 
trude never  interfered. 

I  have  seen  Gertrude  and  she  was  indulgently  amiable 
when  I  read  her  Dibdin's  letter. 

"  I  believe,  Ranny,"  she  was  pleased  to  say,  "  you  are 
developing.  Do  you  know,  I  think  business  experience 
very  good  for  you  ?  "  It  was  very  agreeable  to  see  Ger- 
trude curled  up  on  a  sofa  in  a  very  pretty  tea  gown  com- 
fortably smoking  her  cigarette.  I  felt  suddenly  that  the 
neglect  of  feminine  society  is  a  mistake  for  any  man, 
most  of  all  for  myself. 

"  I'm  glad  my  partner  isn't  here,"  I  told  her.  "  He 
might  give  me  away." 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  answered.  "  You  are  a  stronger 
man  to-day  than  you  were  a  few  months  and  even  a  few 
weeks  ago.  Here  you  are  attracting  money.  A  thou- 
sand dollars  is  always  a  thousand  dollars." 

"  Yes,  indeed !  Let  Morgan  look  to  his  laurels,"  I  re- 
plied. "  His  days  are  numbered." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,"  she  laughed.  "  You'll  be  rich  be- 
fore you  know  it.  But  that  isn't  the  point.  Lots  of 
other  things  you'll  see  in  a  new  way.  You've  been  a 
sentimentalist,  Ranny,"  she  went  on  explaining.  "  Busi- 
ness gives  a  man  judgment  instead  of  sentimentality. 
You'll  come  to  understand  that  my  advice  to  you  in  a 
number  of  things,  including  the  children,  had  more  sense 
to  it  then  you  guessed.  You  will  recognize  that  even  chil- 
dren can  be  cared  for  better  by  efficient  people  trained  for 
it  than  by  an  inexperienced  bachelor  and  a  little  foundling 
girl.  Don't  worry  about  that  now,"  she  added  hastily, 
"  but  you'll  find  out." 

My  answering  grin  must  have  been  of  a  sickly  pallid 
hue,  for  I  own  I  felt  myself  chilling  at  her  words. 


96         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  I  thought,"  I  put  in,  "  that  that  was  all  over  and 
settled  between  us." 

"  So  it  is,  Ranny  dear,"  she  answered  quickly. 
"  Don't  misunderstand.  I  am  not  advising  now.  I  am 
merely  prophesying." 

"  Oh,  in  that  case,"  I  endeavored  to  be  conciliatory, 
"  it  will  be  a  pleasant  game  to  watch  how  true  your 
prophecy  comes." 

"  Yes,"  she  spoke  more  eagerly.  "  Now  tell  me  about 
your  business.  It  must  be  horribly  interesting." 

"  It  horribly  is,"  I  agreed,  "  and  fearfully  done." 
And  I  went  on  to  describe  to  her  amusement  some  of  the 
ways  and  means  of  the  ingenious  Fred  Salmon. 

"  How  delightful,"  was  her  laughing  comment.  "  Do 
you  know,  Ranny,  when  we're  married  I  mean  to  come 
down  to  your  office  quite  often  ?  " 

"  Better  come  now,"  I  suggested.  "  Who  knows  — 
whether  there'll  be  an  office  by  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  so  long  to  wait  —  perhaps  in  —  June  — 
or  when  you  take  your  holiday." 

"The  sooner  the  better,"  I  told  her  quite  sincerely. 
"  I  see  no  object  in  any  further  delay  —  "  whereat  Ger- 
trude seemed  pleased. 

"  Oh,  I'll  spring  it  on  you  one  of  these  days,"  she 
smiled  gayly.  "  Now  will  you  have  some  tea  or  some- 
thing to  drink  ?  " 

A  very  companionable  person  is  Gertrude.  Since,  as  a 
great  man  has  said,  a  grand  passion  is  as  rare  as  a 
grand  opera,  I  presume  that  notwithstanding  novelists 
and  romancers  to  the  contrary,  companionship  is  what 
virtually  all  successful  marriages  are  based  on.  One 
thing  my  business  experience  has  taught  me  thus  far 
is  a  disgust  with  vague  and  indefinite  conditions.  The 
sooner  Gertrude  and  I  are  married,  the  better  I  shall 
like  it. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         97 

Barely  had  I  written  down  the  last  words  above  than 
something  occurred  to  give  them  the  lie.  I  am  still 
shaken  with  anger  at  what  I  have  learned. 

Alicia,  whom  I  had  thought  to  be  in  bed,  rapped  gently 
on  my  door  and  came  in,  her  sweet  candid  face  so  charged 
with  pain  and  alarm  that  I  jumped  from  my  chair  at 
sight  of  her.  I  have  seemed  scarcely  to  notice  her  these 
months,  yet  I  realize  she  has  grown  as  dear  to  me  as  any 
of  the  other  children.  To  see  her  suffering  seemed 
poignantly  intolerable. 

"  What  on  earth,"  I  gasped,  "  is  the  matter,  Alicia?  " 
She  could  scarcely  speak  for  the  tears  that  were  choking 
her.  "  Is  it  any  of  the  children?  " 

"  N-no,  sir,"  she  sobbed.     "  They  —  are  —  all  right." 

"  What  on  earth  can  it  be  then  ?  "  I  demanded,  putting 
my  arm  about  this  little  Niobe  and  gently  seating  her  in 
the  big  chair.  "  Come,  my  dear,  tell  me  about  it."  She 
made  an  effort  to  control  her  sobs. 

"  You  are  —  going  to  —  send  me  away,"  she  wept. 
The  same  old  story.  That,  I  thought,  must  be  this  child's 
obsession. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  I  spoke  as  gently  as  I  knew  how,  taking  her 
little  cold  hand  in  mine,  "  and  why  am  I  going  to  do 
that?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  sobbed  bitterly.  "  I  suppose  be- 
cause I  am  no  use  here  —  because  you  don't  want  me." 
I  laughed  at  her  boisterously  in  an  endeavor  to  shake  her 
out  of  that  notion. 

"  And  who,"  I  asked,  "  has  said  anything  of  the 
kind?"  She  did  not  answer.  "Was  it  Griselda?" 

"  No,  sir,"  she  breathed. 
•     "  Was  it  any  of  the  children?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Uncle  Ranny  —  I  mean  Mr.  Byrd.  They 
like  me." 

"What  was  it  then?"  I  insisted  gayly.     "Come,  out 


98         THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

with  it.  I  never  heard  such  bosh.  Come,  tell  me  the 
whole  story,  Alicia." 

"I  —  I  was  in  the  square  this  afternoon,"  she  began, 
drying  her  eyes  with,  a  very  wet  and  crumpled  little  hand- 
kerchief, "  playing  with  Jimmie  while  Laura  and  Ranny 
were  roller-skating  —  "  and  she  paused. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  urged,  "  and  then?  " 

"  A  lady  stopped  to  talk  to  me  —  it  was  Miss  —  Miss 
Bayard." 

"  Miss  Bayard  ? "  I  repeated  wonderingly.  It  was 
strange  Gertrude  had  not  mentioned  it.  She  must,  I 
thought,  have  forgotten  the  incident  "  And  what,"  I 
prompted,  "  did  Miss  Bayard  say  ?  " 

"  She  said,"  and  Alicia's  lips  quivered  pitifully,  "  '  are 
you  still  here,  child  ?  ' 

"  Yes  —  go  on ! "  I  could  hardly  trust  myself  to 
speak  for  the  premonitory  anger  that  was  rising  within 
me. 

"  I  told  her,  yes,  ma'am."  Alicia  spoke  somewhat  more 
easily,  feeling,  evidently,  that  I  was  not  against  her. 
"  And  Miss  Bayard  said,"  she  went  on,  "  that  she  thought 
I  had  gone  away  weeks  ago.  I  didn't  understand  what 
she  meant,  and  I  asked  her  where  she  thought  I  had  gone. 
'  Didn't  anybody  from  the  Home  come  to  look  you  up?  ' 
she  asked  me.  And  I  told  her  that  Miss  Smith  had  come. 
And  she  asked  me  whether  Miss  Smith  hadn't  done  any- 
thing about  me.  And  I  told  her  that  Miss  Smith  had 
—  that  she  said  I  could  stay." 

"And  what  did  she  say  to  that?"  I  gasped,  by  this 
time  livid  with  anger. 

"  She  said  it  was  very  strange  —  that  she  did  not 
understand  it  She  didn't  say  it  to  me.  She  seemed  to 
be  speaking  to  herself.  And  then  she  just  gave  a  little 
nod  and  walked  away." 

"  Just  gave  a  little  nod  and  walked  away,"  I  repeated 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE         99 

after  her  mechanically.  "  And  because  of  that  you 
thought  I  was  planning  to  send  you  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Byrd,"  she  murmured  with  a  dejection  that 
in  the  young  is  so  profoundly  touching  it  makes  one's 
heart  ache. 

"  Well,"  and  I  hope  my  sickly  laugh  was  as  reassuring 
as  it  was  meant  to  be,  "  and  if  I  tell  you  that  I  knew  noth- 
ing at  all  about  it  —  will  that  make  you  feel  better  ?  " 
She  nodded.  "  And  if  I  tell  you  that  so  far  from  plan- 
ning to  send  you  away,  I  couldn't  do  without  you;  that 
you  are  necessary  in  this  house,  that  you  are  just  the  same 
to  me  as  any  of  the  other  children;  that  I  make  no  dis- 
tinction between  you ;  that,  in  short  —  this  house  is  your 
home  until  —  until  you  grow  up  and  get  married  —  as 
long  as  you  want  to  be  here  — "  and  I  sat  on  the  side 
of  the  chair,  drew  her  to  me  and  patted  her  as  I  might 
have  patted  little  Laura.  "  Is  that  all  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Uncle  —  Mr.  Ranny,"  she  whispered,  her  head 
sinking  toward  me  like  a  child's,  and  a  sigh  of  deep 
content  escaped  her.  "  I  don't  want  anything  else  in  this 
world ! " 

How  beautifully  affection  sits  upon  a  child! 

"  Now  go  to  bed,  Alicia,"  I  urged  her  gently,  "  and 
don't  bother  your  innocent  little  head  about  anything  of 
that  sort.  Miss  Bayard  was  probably  joking,  but  —  she 
won't  do  that  again  —  when  she  knows  how  badly  it 
made  you  feel." 

She  stirred  as  from  a  trance  and  slowly  rose.  "  How 
is  the  school  work  going?  "  I  asked  her.  "  All  right?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Byrd,"  she  murmured,  "  except  the  Latin 
—  I  don't  put  in  enough  time  on  it,  the  teacher  says, 
especially  the  Latin  composition." 

"  Ah,  we'll  have  to  remedy  that.  You  must  come  and 
let  me  help  you.  What  are  you  reading  in  Latin  ?  " 

"  Caesar's  Commentaries,"   she   smiled,  shamefacedly, 


100       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

like  a  troubled  child  that  has  been  restored  to  happi- 
ness. 

"  Ah,  then  you  must  get  it  right.  For  what  would 
happen,  Alicia,  if  you  were  to  face  the  world  ignorant 
of  how  Caesar  conquered  the  Belgians!  And  if  you 
should  go  out  into  life  without  an  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  equipment  of  Caesar's  light-armed  infantry,  of  the 
habits  of  the  Gauls  and  the  right  use  of  the  catapult  or 
the  proper  employment  of  the  chariot,  the  consequences 
might  be  little  short  of  ignominious !  Better  come  to  me 
and  let  me  set  you  straight.  I  know  you  understand  in- 
direct discourse  from  the  way  you  told  me  your  story 
to-night  But  the  subjunctive,  my  dear — ah,  the  sub- 
junctive must  be  closer  to  you  than  a  brother  and  nearer 
than  hands  and  feet !  " 

She  laughed  a  merry,  delicious  peal  of  laughter  and 
when  she  said  good  night  I  put  my  hand  upon  her  soft 
silken  hair  and  sent  from  the  room  a  very  radiant,  happy 
little  girl. 

But  now,  as  my  thought  wanders  back  to  Gertrude's 
surprising  demarche,  uncontrollable  indignation  again 
possesses  me.  To  think  that  it  was  she  who  had  insti- 
gated the  visit  of  that  little  inspectress,  Miss  Smith, 
weeks  ago!  It  is  unbelievable.  Underhand  methods  in 
Gertrude  are  new  to  me. 

I  have  called  up  Gertrude  on  the  telephone.  And  in 
spite  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour  she  insisted  in  a  some- 
what wintry  voice  that  I  had  better  come  up  at  once  and 
see  her,  as  she  put  it,  settle  it  once  for  all.  Je  m'y  rend. 
To  settle  it  once  for  all  is  precisely  what  I  desire. 

My  desire  has  been  stormily  satisfied.  Though  in- 
wardly indignant,  I  returned  to  Gertrude  with  every  in- 
tention of  being  very  bland  and  very  reasonable,  hoping 
against  hope  to  have  the  unlovely  fact  somehow  cleared 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       101 

away.  But  Gertrude,  it  seems,  had  decided  that  the  in- 
dignation properly  belonged  to  her. 

"  Hello,  Ranny,"  she  greeted  me  easily,  in  the  gray 
tone  that  precedes  a  tempest.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
speaking  to  me  as  you  did  over  the  telephone  ?  " 

"I  —  I  mean  this,"  I  faltered,  but  that  was  the  last 
time  I  faltered  in  speaking  to  her.  "  Did  you  or  did  you 
not  report  the  case  of  Alicia  to  the  Home  and  send  an 
inspectress  to  me?  " 

She  watched  me  with  narrowed  eyelids  for  a  moment 
and  then,  deciding  evidently,  that  a  little  truculence 
would  reduce  me  to  my  normal  state  of  pulp,  she  an- 
swered coolly: 

"  And  suppose  I  did  —  what  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  merely  want  to  know  the  truth,"  I  answered  her 
quietly  enough.  "  Lies  are  so  detestable  to  me."  She 
flinched  perceptibly,  but  drew  herself  up  with  hauteur. 

"Well,  then  I  didn't!"  she  returned  loftily.  "But 
what  if  I  had?  Somebody  ought  to  have  reported  it," 
she  ran  on  with  gathering  temper  by  which  she  thought 
to  crush  me.  "  I  think  it's  indecent  for  you  to  have  in 
the  house  a  girl  of  that  age  who's  no  relation  to  you. 
The  fact  that  you  are  a  fool  doesn't  make  it  any  less 
indecent.  I'm  the  only  woman  friend  you  have  and 
somebody  has  to  see  you  don't  make  a  worse  idiot  of 
yourself  than  nature  made  you  to  start  with.  Now  do 
you  understand,  my  excellent  friend  ?  " 

And  having  discharged  this  volley  she  stood  panting 
lividly,  as  if  viewing  my  ruins.  At  the  moment  however 
I  could  not  consider  her.  I  knew  only  that  flashes  of  red 
appeared  before  my  eyes,  that  I  spoke  the  literal  truth 
when  I  told  her: 

"  To  me  such  an  action  and  the  person  guilty  of  it 
would  be  equally  contemptible." 

!<  You  say  that  to  me?  "  she  gasped,  taking  a  step  for- 


102       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

ward,  with  a  colorable  imitation  of  incredulity,  strange 
in  view  of  her  denial. 

"  To  you  —  yes,"  I  told  her,  quietly  enough,  for  now 
I  was  more  master  of  myself.  "  And  contemptible  is 
only  a  mild  euphemism  for  what  I  should  really  think." 
She  stared  at  me  speechless  for  a  moment. 

"  You  think ! "  she  uttered  in  mocking  scorn. 
"  You've  posed  as  a  sort  of  God's  fool  —  but  what  you 
are  is  the  devil's  tool." 

"  Take  care,  Gertrude,"  I  warned  her.  "  You  might 
say  something  that  you  will  regret  even  more." 

She  waved  me  contemptuously  away. 

"  I'll  say  this,"  she  returned  in  level  tones,  seating  her- 
self and  clenching  her  hands  in  an  effort  at  control  — 
but  in  reality  she  was  beginning  a  new  offensive. 
:(  You'd  better  go  home,  Ranny,  and  make  up  your  mind 
to  send  that  girl  away.  All  men  are  rotten.  But  it's 
because  I  thought  you  were  different  that  —  that  — 
she  did  not  finish,  but  added :  "  And  to  have  you  gather- 
ing ih  girls  from  the  gutter  —  " 

"  Stop !  "  I  cried,  "  I  won't  hear  another  word,"  and 
turned  away  as  if  to  go,  not  trusting  myself  to  say 
more. 

"  Come  back ! "  she  called,  jumping  from  the  sofa. 
"  Come  back  and  listen :  Either  you  send  that  girl  away 
or  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you.  Is  that  under- 
stood?" 

I  laughed  at  her  mirthlessly. 

"  Choose  between  her  and  me,"  she  uttered  with  the 
touch  of  melodrama  that  few  women  seem  to  escape. 

"  Don't  be  theatrical,"  I  told  her,  now  more  in  control 
of  myself.  "  That  girl  makes  it  possible  for  me  to  bring 
up  Laura's  children.  She  is  no  more  to  me  than  any  of 
the  others.  But  however  that  may  be,  she  stays  — 
understand  that,  please,  Gertrude:  she  stays!" 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       103 

"  Then  you've  chosen  ?  "  she  demanded  in  livid  stupe- 
faction. 

"  I've  announced  no  choice.     But  the  girl  stays." 

"  Thank  God ! "  she  lifted  her  hands  upwards,  and  I 
hope  her  prayer  was  acceptable.  "  I  knew  I  was  tied  to 
a  fool,"  she  added,  as  though  I  had  been  holding  her  en- 
chained, "  but  I  did  not  know  he  was  a  knave  as  well. 
I'm  free  at  last !  " 

I  walked  out  without  trusting  myself  to  make  reply. 

I  sincerely  hope  Gertrude  will  enjoy  her  freedom  more 
than  she  did  her  bondage.  Anyway,  I  am  glad  she  has 
entered  a  denial. 

As  I  walked  home  under  a  starry  sky,  however,  I  was 
amazed  to  feel  my  anger  cooling  rapidly ;  the  sense  of  de- 
feat, of  disappointment  with  human  nature,  giving  way 
to  a  new  feeling  of  freedom,  to  an  elation  I  had  not  ex- 
perienced in  years.  I  definitely  felt  a  leap  of  exhilara- 
tion in  the  wake  of  the  other  mingled  emotions.  It  took 
me  by  surprise. 

Matrimony  is  obviously  not  for  such  shameful  villains 
as  myself.  If  Gertrude  expects  me  to  return  on  bended 
marrow  bones  and  sue  for  forgiveness,  I  am  certain  she 
is  mistaken.  Matrimony  is  not  for  me.  That  at  least  is 
clear. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  dancing  flamboyancy  in  his  veins  has  proved  too 
much  for  my  revered  partner,  Fred  Salmon. 

With  a  glimmer  half,  bravado,  half  amusement  in  his 
eyes,  he  announced  to  me  this  morning  that  he  has 
"  signed  on  for  a  piece  of  the  Roumanian  loan." 

I  was  stupefied. 

"  How  much?  "  I  gasped  faintly,  watching  him  closely, 
for  I  could  not  believe  it. 

"  Only  a  measly  million,"  he  replied  with  deprecating 
cockiness.  "  It  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  make  them 
let  us  come  in  at  all.  If  it  weren't  for  your  cold  feet 
I  would  have  taken  the  three  millions."  And  his  chuckle 
irritated  me  beyond  words. 

He  was  in  earnest.     He  was  not  joking. 

"  And  where  the  devil,"  I  spluttered,  "  will  you  get 
the  money  for  even  the  initial  payment  ?  " 

"  Raise  it,  my  boy,  raise  it,"  he  bent,  beetling  over  me. 
"If  we  want  to  amount  to  anything  we've  got  to  take 
chances.  One  syndicate  participation  like  that  and  per- 
haps another  with  the  newspaper  publicity,  and  we're 
made  men  in  the  Street.  Got  to  do  it.  Want  to  be  a 
piker  all  your  lif e  ?  I  don't !  " 

"  You're  —  majl  —  "I  stammered  limply.  "  Stark, 
raving  mad.  And  how  do  you  propose  to  raise  the 
money  ?  " 

"  By  selling  the  bonds,  fellow ! "  he  announced  with 
aloof  superiority. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       105 

"  Have  you  got  the  bonds  ?  " 

"  No.  They  are  not  even  in  this  country.  We  give 
them  ad  interim  certificates  until  the  bonds  arrive." 

"  Have  you  got  the  certificates  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  astounding  reply.  "  We'll  sell  'em 
first,  get  the  money  for  'em,  turn  it  over  to  Sampson  & 
Company,  the  syndicate  managers,  and  draw  our  cer- 
tificates. That's  how  it  works.  Of  course  if  we  were 
a  bigger  house,  better  known,  it  would  be  easier.  But 
we'll  do  it  — •  don't  you  Worry  —  we'll  do  it!  " 

"  You  mean,"  I  groped,  "  we  have  to  sell  something 
we  haven't  even  in  hand  and  get  money  for  it  ?  " 

"  That's  what  it  amounts  to,"  he  grinned,  though  less 
jauntily  than  before. 

I  felt  myself  crumbling  to  dust. 

"  Don't  sit  there  like  that  S  "  he  cried,  regarding  me  as 
one  looks  down  from  the  side  of  a  great  liner  upon  a 
drifting  derelict.  "  Get  busy !  Get  on  the  telephone 
and  sell  some  Roumanian  bonds !  "  And  he  chuckled  in 
his  absurd  triumphant  manner  that  will  one  day  drive  me 
to  desperation.  "  Begin  with  your  friend  Visconti,"  he 
suggested.  "  He  seems  to  have  taken  a  shine  to  you. 
Talk  to  him  in  Dago." 

Many  and  many  a  time  had  I  asked  myself  what  I 
was  doing  in  that  particular  galley.  To  enter  a  new  oc- 
cupation without  enthusiasm,  for  a  cloistered  monk  like 
myself  to  go  out  into  the  market  place  as  a  chaff erer 
and  a  huckster,  among  a  race  I  had  not  even  cared  to 
understand,  and  to  embrace  their  ideals  and  their  career, 
concerning  which  I  had  not  even  curiosity,  had  been  dif- 
ficult enough.  With  the  lash  of  my  need  I  had  whipped 
myself  like  a  flagellant  to  the  daily  grind  until  custom 
had  given  it  the  ungrateful  familiarity  that  the  tread- 
mill must  have  for  the  mule. 

But  to  embark  upon  this  murky  enterprise  of  Fred's, 


106       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

charged  for  me  with  the  dread  of  a  hundred  lurking  pit- 
falls, into  which  I  should  infallibly  stumble,  charged  with 
the  fear  of  certain  failure,  all  my  instincts  revolted 
against  it.  Nevertheless,  like  a  lost  soul,  I  suffered  my- 
self to  be  driven  because  I  must. 

It  is  to  the  glo.ry  of  human  nature  that  there  is  more 
of  the  milk  and  marrow  of  human  kindness  in  it  than 
pessimists  give  it  credit  for.  The  excellent  Visconti, 
after  listening  to  me  in  silence  while  I  lamely  and  guiltily 
explained  my  offer  to  him,  courteously  replied  in 
Italian. 

"If  you  recommend  them,  Signor,  I  will"  take  them. 
I  cannot  take  many,  but  I  will  take  five." 

I  thanked  him  as  best  I  could,  but  I  shrank  back  as 
under  a  blow.  This,  man  was  buying  not  Roumanian 
bonds  so  much  as  my  Word.  Besides,  though  the  bonds 
were  right  enough,  I  had  nothing  to  give  him  and  yet  I 
wanted  his  money.  I  could  not  face  it,  and  so  I  in- 
formed my  egregious  Fred. 

"  That's  so,"  said  Fred  reflectively  and  for  a  moment 
he  was  lost  in  thought.  Then,  as  is  his  wont,  he  sud- 
denly began  to  radiate  the  heat  of  a  new  inspiration. 
"  I've  got  it !  "  he  cried.  "  Listen  here.  You've  only 
put  half  your  capital  into  this  business.  You've  got  in 
the  vault  —  how  much  is  it?  Twenty-five  thousand  in 
securities  ?  " 

I  gaped  at  him  in  terror. 

"  Well,"  he  ran  on,  "  suppose  you  bring  them  over,  de- 
posit them  with  Sampson  and  Company  against  that 
much  in  ad  interim  certificates  —  or  else  borrow  money 
on  'em.  Don't  you  see  ?  "  he  slapped  his  knee  gleefully, 
"  then  we  have  those  certificates  on  hand.  We  can  pass 
'em  right  out  to  fellows  like  Visconti,  who  come  straight 
across,  and  so  go  on  with  the  game.  When  we're 
through,  all  you've  done  is  to  lend  yourself  —  the  firm  — 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       107 

twenty-five  thousand  in  securities,  given  us  a  big  lift  and 
you  put  your  securities  back  in  the  vault.  Don't  you  see 
that?" 

"  No." 

"  Isn't  that  clear?  "  he  asked  in  an  injured  tone. 

"  Clear  as  pitch,"  I  answered  truthfully. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  clapped  me  smartly  on  the  shoulder. 
"  You  go  bring  your  securities  over.  I'll  make  it  clear. 
Of  course  you'll  draw  interest  on  the  loan  you're  making 
the  firm." 

And  like  the  mule  I  am,  I  dully  complied.  And  now 
we  are  laboring  on  with  the  sale  of  the. million  in  foreign 
bonds  to  people  the  majority  of  whom  have  not  a  no- 
tion whether  Roumania  is  the  capital  of  Rome  or  a  Cen- 
tral American  republic.  "  L'insuccess,"  declares  Balzac, 
"  nous  accuse  toujours  la  puissance  de  vos  pretentious." 
But  as  I  had  no  pretensions  in  this  business,  loss  and  fail- 
ure would  be  doubly  humiliating.  What  then,  I  ask  my- 
self again,  am  I  doing  in  that  galley?  Meantime  what 
remains  of  my  slender  possessions  is  hypothecated  to  the 
pretensions  I  had  never  entertained. 

I  have  been  house-hunting  in  the  suburbs.  It  is  idle 
for  me  to  try  to  find  either  a  house  or  an  apartment  in 
any  region  that  would  be  suitable  for  both  my  means  and 
the  children  in  New  York.  So  for  two  Saturdays  and 
two  Sundays  I  have  been  trudging  the  dreariness  of  the 
less  expensive  suburbs  in  quest  of  a  house. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Fred,  when  he  heard  of  it,  "  not 
going  to  leave  the  Shoe  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  told  him.  "  The  Shoe  pinches,  I  must  find 
another." 

"  Well,  you're  a  funny  old  geezer,"  was  his  laughing 
comment.  I  could  do  better  than  that  in  describing  him. 

When  I  come  home  depressed  and  weary  I   find  a 


108       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

shower  of  little  attentions  awaiting  me,  very  winning  and 
touchingly  agreeable.  Little  Jimmie,  with  great  serious 
eyes,  ostentatiously  brings  me  my  slippers  and  dressing 
gown  and  watches  my  face  intently  for  the  reward  of 
commendation.  When  I  murmur,  "  Thanks,  old  man, 
very  good  of  you,"  I  can  virtually  see  his  little  pulses 
pounding  with  exultation  in  his  veins. 

"  Are  you  vewy  tired,  Uncle  Ranny  ? "  he  inquires, 
keeping  up  the  high  drama  of  profound  concern. 

"  So,  so,  old  chap,"  I  tell  him,  kissing  his  serious  little 
face.  "  Nothing  to  worry  about."  A  moment  later  I 
hear  him  dashing  about  the  dining  room  very  properly 
and  completely  obliviorus  of  my  fatigue. 

Laura  in  the  role  of  Hebe,  gravely  brings  me  tea  on 
a  small  tray,  and  asks  whether  there  is  any  book  I  desire 
or  anything  else  that  she  might  bring  me. 

But  behind  all  these  attentions  I  discern  the  directing 
hand  of  Alicia.  Can  it  be  that  the  child  has  instinctively 
divined  that  I  have  actually  broken  with  Gertrude  on  her 
account,  that  the  little  woman's  soul  in  her  secretly  exults 
in  a  feeling  of  victory?  Since  she  cannot  know  all  the 
conditions,  she  can  feel,  at  most,  I  suppose,  only  a  vague 
primitive  sense  of  triumph  in  defeating  the  will  of  an- 
other woman.  Perhaps  I  am  attributing  too  much  to 
her  young  intelligence,  but  at  times  I  seem  to  perceive 
in  her  eyes,  in  her  bearing,  a  touch  of  the  protective  in- 
stinct, of  almost  the  maternal  toward  me,  that  I  had  never 
observed  in  her  before.  Possibly  it  is  merely  a  sense 
of  gratitude.  At  all  events,  those  attentions  of  the 
little  people  are  very  soothing  and  grateful,  notably  now, 
since  Griselda's  have  declined  perforce,  in  view  of  her 
greatly  increased  work  in  the  kitchen.  Yet  it  staggers 
me  at  times  when  I  realize  the  number  of  souls  for  whose 
shelter  and  livelihood  I  am  responsible,  for  the  complex 
machinery  that  I  must  keep  revolving.  Experience  like 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       109 

that  should  be  acquired  young.     Like  Mr.  Roosevelt,  I 
would  advocate  early  marriages. 

I  have  found  a  house. 

In  Crestlands  (thrilling  are  the  names  of  suburbs!) 
thirty-five  minutes  from  Grand  Central  Station,  in  West- 
chester  County.  I  came  upon  a  chalet-like  cottage  built 
largely  upon  a  rock  that  I  believe  will  answer  our  pur- 
pose. The  rent  is  moderate  and  there  is  said  to  be  an 
asparagus  bed  somewhere  in  the  "  grounds."  I  know 
there  are  two  trees  with  gnarled  roots  grasping  their  way 
downward  among  the  stones,  in  a  business-like  struggle 
for  existence,  and  there  are  a  few  inches  of  lawn  for 
the  children.  With  a  veritable  terrain  like  that  as  dower, 
it  will  surprise  no  one  that  I  took  the  cottage. 

"  The  latitude's  rather  uncertain,  and  the  longitude 
also  is  vague,"  as  vague,  almost,  as  that  of  Roumania; 
nevertheless  I  shall  be  henceforth  a  dweller  of  Suburbia. 

This  being  Sunday,  I  took  the  children  out  there  in 
the  afternoon  to  examine  their  new  demesne.  With  the 
air  of  a  castellan  exhibiting  an  old  castle,  I  showed  them 
through  the  rooms  and  in  the  phrases  of  the  real-estate 
dealer  I  enumerated  their  advantages  —  with  a  heavy 
heart.  But  the  children  cared  nothing  about  that.  Ran- 
dolph saw  visions  of  a  tent  or  an  Indian  tepee  under  one 
of  the  gnarled  old  trees  and  Jimmie  illustrated  how  he 
would  "  woll  down  "  the  slope ;  all  our  "  grounds  "  are 
slope  et  praeterea  nihil.  But  Laura,  detecting  a  neg- 
lected rose  bush  near  one  of  the  windows,  clapped  her 
hands  for  joy. 

'  This  is  like  the  house  in  '  Peter  Pan  ',  Uncle  Ranny," 
she  cried  delightedly.  "  There  will  be  roses  peeping  in, 
and  babies  peeping  out." 

I  looked  at  her  in  poignant  surprise.  It  was  so  abso- 
lutely the  voice  of  her  mother  when  she  was  a  girl,  the 


110       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

spirit  and  the  expression.  It  is  exactly  that  feature  that 
my  poor  sister  would  have  first  taken  into  account;  it 
might  have  been  Laura  herself.  I  turned  away  in  order 
not  to  cloud  their  delight.  The  poetry  of  life  is  the  only 
thing  worth  living  for,  yet  what  a  toll  the  world  exacts 
on  that  commodity ! 

Griselda,  in  spite  of  all  temptation,  had  declined  to 
come. 

"  Is  there  a  good  kitchen  ?  "  she  demanded.  I  told 
her  I  thought  th^e  was. 

"  Then  I  will  not  waste  my  time  looking  for  the  birdies 
in  the  trees  or  the  paint  on  the  roof,"  she  retorted  stoutly. 
She  even  demurred  at  Alicia's  coming.  "  There's  over 
much  to  do,"  she  protested  darkly. 

Of  discomfort  and  wretchedness  let  none  speak.  I 
have  sounded  both  and  so  much  else  that  is  unpleasant 
to  the  abysmal  depths  that  I  shall  never  again  look  with 
the  same  eyes  upon  the  impassive  faces  of  the  men  in 
the  moving  express  train.  They  have  all  no  doubt  lived 
and  suffered  even  as  I,  these,  my  brothers ! 

I  have  moved  the  household  to  my  suburb,  and  this  is 
a  lament  de  profundis. 

The  legendary  mandrake  is  a  gurgling  infant  to  the 
way  my  books  cried  upon  removing.  They  not  only 
screamed;  they  sobbed  and  quivered  like  broken  souls  to 
be  dislodged  from  their  place  that  has  known  and  loved 
them  so  well  and  so  long.  Every  object  in  the  flat  was 
a  whole  plantation  of  mandrakes.  Their  wailing  and 
ululation  resounds  yet  in  their  new  and  changed  sur- 
roundings. Roses  peeping  in,  indeed!  To  my  books 
this  is  a  house  of  sorrow.  Forlorn  and  jumbled  and  still 
unsorted  they  stand  and  lie  in  heaps  so  that  their  fallen 
state  wrings  my  lacerated  heart.  Alicia,  to  whom  I  sadly 
complained  of  this  condition,  consolingly  answered : 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       111 

.  "  But  my  English  teacher  in  school  would  say  that  that 
was  a  'pathetic  fallacy',  Mr.  Ranny.  Books  and  things 
don't  really  feel,  do  they  ?  " 

"  Don't  they !  "  I  bitterly  exclaimed.  "  Let  unemo- 
tional pedants  speak  as  they  stupidly  will,  Alicia.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  poignantly  pathetic  than  a  fallacy !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  murmured  Alicia  and  with  reverent  fingers 
she  silently  helped  me  to  place  some  of  those  books.  She 
has  a  tender  touch  for  the  objects  of  other  people's  love, 
a  charming  attribute  in  a  woman. 

And  from  the  physical  chaos  in  the  chalet  at  Crestlands 
I  am  whirled  madly  every  morning  in  a  crowded  express 
train,  then  in  a  convulsively  serried  subway  car,  to  the 
more  subtle  chaos  in  the  office  of  Salmon  and  Byrd  — 
to  sell  Roumanian  bonds.  Roumanian  bonds  are  over- 
running those  offices  like  the  rats  in  the  town  of  Hamelin. 
Ah,  will  not  some  piper,  pied  or  otherwise,  come  and  pipe 
them  all  into  the  sea?  The  answer,  I  grieve  to  say,  is 
no!  The  impossibility  of  shifting  one's  burdens  is  the 
fundamental  mistake  of  Creation. 

Nothing  irritates  me  more  after  a  morning's  fruitless 
telephoning  or  ineffectual  running  about  than  to  have 
Fred  Salmon  smile  sleekly,  clap  me  on  the  back  and 
mumble  mechanically : 

"  Great  work,  old  boy !     You're  doing  fine !  " 

What  is  the  use  of  these  false  inanities?  On  Satur- 
day he  came  to  me  with  the  gratifying  intelligence  that 
Imber  and  Smith,  who  took  two  millions  of  the  bonds, 
have  already  sold  out  their  allotment. 

"  Damn  them !  "  was  the  only  answer  I  could  find. 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  he  answered  in  his  perfect  role 
of  being  all  things  to  all  men,  then  reflectively,  "  I  think 
Smith's  a  liar,  though."  I'll  wager  nevertheless  that 
he  congratulated  Smith  as  heartily  as  he  bruises  my  back. 


112       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

To  be  all  things  to  all  men  is  surely  one  of  the  most 
disgusting  traits  in  a  human  biped.  Fitfully  ever  and 
again  I  wish  myself  out  of  the  ruck  and  rabble  of  all 
that.  But  sadly  and  heavily  it  comes  to  me  that  it  is 
better  perhaps  to  bear  the  ills  one  has  than  to  fly  to  others 
that  are  a  mere  sinister  blank.  I  seem  like  a  man  on  a 
raft  with  the  storm-lashed  waves  washing  over  me  the 
while  I  gasp  for  breath  and  hope  for  rescue. 

I  wonder  what  this  life  would  be  like  if  upon  coming 
home  to  Crestlands  there  were  not  those  eager  little  re- 
trievers to  fetch  and  to  carry  and  to  wait  upon  me,  to 
surround  me  with  their  glad  young  freshness.  But  in 
candor  I  must  admit  that  but  for  them  I  should  be  leading 
my  old  secluded  life,  undisturbed  among  books,  that  now 
seems  remote  as  a  past  incarnation. 

The  weeks  go  by  and,  toiling  under  our  burden,  we 
are  desperately  trying  to  stem  the  rush  of  time.  In  cer- 
tain hard-pressed  moments  I  have  a  sickly  feeling  that 
time  will  win  —  and  crush  us.  A  revoltingly  new  dis- 
covery I  made  yesterday,  that  Fred  has  taken  to  drink- 
ing during  business  hours,  suddenly  drew  the  life  out  of 
me  like  a  suction  pump.  Then,  realizing  the  meaning 
and  the  enormity  of  the  fact,  I  was  frightened  out  of 
fear  and  talked  to  him  in  as  friendly  and  kindly  a  vein 
as  the  circumstances  would  permit,  in  an  effort  to  show 
him  our  position  and  where  it  might  lead  us. 

His  first  snarl  of  defiance  gave  way  to  contrition.  He 
wept  maudlin  tears  and  made  promises  so  robust  that 
they  ought  to  outlive  him,  but  —  I  feel  shaken  as  never 
before. 

Meanwhile  Sampson  and  Company  are  calling  for  the 
payments  due  on  our  allotment  of  bonds,  and  Fred,  the 
smiler  and  the  diplomat,  is  shirking  interviews  with  them. 

"  What  we  need,   Ranny,"  he  said  to  me  to-day  in 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       113 

chastened  mood,  "  is  capital,  more  capital.  We  went 
into  this  business  on  a  shoe  string  —  sometimes  it  will 
hold  till  you  can  get  a  rope  and  sometimes  —  " 

—  "  Even  a  life  line  is  too  late,"  I  supplied. 

He  did  not  answer.  But  after  a  pause  he  began 
afresh : 

"  Couldn't  you  get  round  and  see  some  of  your  rich 
friends  —  see  whether  they  could  tide  us  over  for  a 
spell?" 

"  Rich  friends ! "  I  writhed  as  one  in  torment. 
"  Who  are  my  rich  friends  ?  I  have  none,  as  you  ought 
to  know.  I  have  now  put  in  every  cent  of  capital  that  I 
own  —  against  your  business  experience,  Fred.  And  this 
is  where  we've  arrived.  If  my  sister's  children  weren't 
dependent  upon  me  —  but  then,"  I  ended  bitterly,  "I 
shouldn't  be  here,  as  I  think  you  know." 

He  bowed  his  head. 

"  Didn't  your  sister  —  wasn't  there  anything  —  r  " 
But  to  his  credit,  he  did  not  finish.  If,  as  I  suppose,  he 
meant  to  ask  whether  Laura  left  any  money  that  I  could 
use,  he  evidently  thought  better  of  it  and  walked  away 
in  a  somber  silence.  And  that  is  where  we  stand 

That  is  where  we  stand  in  our  business,  and  the  needs 
of  my  household  are  expanding.  Griselda  knows  noth- 
ing of  my  affairs  and  yet  I  surprise  her  dark  eyes,  singu- 
larly lustrous  for  one  of  her  years,  watching  me  at  times 
out  of  her  swarthy  wrinkled  face,  as  if  divining  the 
Jehannum  I  am  experiencing.  More  than  ever  she  lays 
herself  out  to  perform  incredible  feats  of  economy,  whilst 
I  hypocritically  pretend  to  be  unaware  of  it. 

The  children,  having  prospered  and  grown  during  the 
winter,  are  in  need  of  new  summer  wardrobes,  which  I 
have  ordered  bought.  If  it  is  to  be  disaster,  then  shab- 
biness  shall  not  betray  us.  Like  the  man  who  donned 
evening  clothes  in  which  to  sink  with  the  Titanic,  I  have 


114       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

always  entertained  a  stubborn  faith  in  the  policy  of  good 
clothes.  Policy,  policy  —  the  trail  of  policy  is  over  me 
like  a  fetid  odor  —  and  how  clean  and  unsmirched  I 
have  always  felt  in  my  stupid  transparency!  Gertrude, 
if  she  knew  it,  would  now  rejoice  that  she  had  thrown 
me  over. 

I  envy  our  clerks,  and  typists  who  banish  all  cares  at 
five  in  the  afternoon  and  do  not  resume  them  until  the 
following  morning.  What  a  gay  life  is  theirs  —  if  they 
but  knew  it.  They  jest  and  fool  and  hurl  picturesque 
slang  at  one  another  and  draw  their  pay  on  Saturdays, 
unconscious  of  how  near  to  perdition  we  totter.  If  we 
go  to  the  wall  they  will  soon  find  other  places.  But  I 
—  shall  find  the  wall.  I  wish  I  knew  what  the  emotions 
of  Fred  are  as,  rucking  his  forehead  heavily,  he  strides 
about  our  rugs.  I  only  know,  however,  that  mine  are 
emotions  of  doom. 

The  black  doom  is  upon  us. 

After  days  of  haggling  and  lying  and  shuffling  and 
paltering  we  have,  as  a  firm,  expired. 

Our  vain  and  concentrated  efforts  to  sell  something 
that  we  had  not  the  necessary  means  and  connections  to 
sell  led  us  to  neglect  the  things  we  could  have  done. 

I  shall  not  soon  forget  the  vile  outburst  of  the  heavy- 
jowled  Sampson  when  as  by  a  Sultan's  firman,  he  im- 
periously summoned  us  to  his  office  and  told  us  in  his 
language  what  he  thought  of  us. 

"  People  like  you  don't  belong  in  the  Street  —  they 
belong  in  jail.  Assign !  "  he  snarled,  "  Better  assign  at 
once  and  clear  out !  " 

And  not  the  least  of  the  bitterness  of  that  moment  was 
the  acrid  realization  that  I  could  not  charge  him  with 
having  flattered  and  hounded  Fred  into  the  vanity  of  the 
enterprise,  because  at  that  moment  Fred  and  I  were  one 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       115 

—  with  this  distinction:  What  Fred  was  suffering 
would  roll  from  his  back  like  water  from  a  rhinoceros, 
whereas  I  would  remain  obscenely  branded  by  his  words 
forevermore. 

It  was  useless  to  argue,  futile  to  protest.  There  was 
no  time  or  place  for  extenuating  circumstances.  I  was 
too  full  of  shame  and  humiliation  to  offer  any  concilia- 
tory suggestions,  and  I  still  had  enough  of  mulish  pride 
not  to  truckle  to  that  fish-eyed  bully.  We  walked  out 
of  that  man's  office  bankrupts. 

I  still  marvel  how  I  found  my  way  back  to  our  own 
office  through  the  lurid  darkness  that  encompassed  me. 
The  world  about  me  —  the  palpitating,  pressing  eager 
world,  of  which  in  a  measure  I  had  been  a  part  —  was 
suddenly  strange  and  phantasmal  and  alien,  the  ghostly 
city  of  a  dream.  The  people  were  shadows  and  their 
hurrying  steps  and  errands  as  mysterious  and  as  unre- 
lated to  my  life  as  those  of  a  colony  of  ants.  The  only 
actuality  I  did  not  envisage  in  that  dark  moment  which 
was  coextensive  with  eternity,  was  that  7  was  the  anemic 
ghost  stalking  at  noonday  and  the  others  were  the  reality. 

"  If  only  you  had  not  taken  the  balance  of  my  capi- 
tal —  "  was  the  thought  throbbing  under  my  overwhelm- 
ing misery  —  "if  only  you  had  left  me  that!"  But  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  whine  to  Fred.  I  kept  stonily 
silent.  A  burning  resentment  swelled  my  heart  so  that  I 
could  not  speak.  The  newspaper  publicity  Fred  had 
craved  would  come  to  him  now  with  a  vengeance. 

Now  they  are  busy  dismembering  the  corpse  and  col- 
porting  the  remains,  whilst  I  sit  darkly  at  home  in  Crest- 
lands  like  one  disembodied,  dead. 


CHAPTER  XI 

I  HAVE  had  time  to  grow  dulled  to  the  shabby  peri- 
pety  of  my  career  as  a  business  man.  The  sickening 
details  and  legal  forms  of  our  failure  are  over,  and  I 
am  wretchedly  surviving  on  the  loan  made  upon  an  in- 
surance policy,  but  still  I  have  evolved  no  plans  for  the 
future. 

I  sit  in  the  shadow  of  the  chalet  watching  Jimmie  roll- 
ing down  the  slope  and  endeavoring  to  roll  up  again. 
The  early  August  sun  is  hot  in  the  heavens  and  the  air 
even  of  Crestlands  is  muggy.  And  my  pulses  keep  in- 
sistently repeating,  repeating,  "  What  is  to  become  of 
us?"  My  pulses  —  but  not  my  mind.  That  useless 
functionary  has  quite  simply  suspended  operations. 

I  used  to  feel  wise  in  reading  Montaigne  and  Buckle, 
humorous  with  Rabelais  and  Cervantes,  acute  and  a  man 
of  the  world  with  Balzac  or  Sainte-Beuve.  But  none  of 
these  erstwhile  comforters,  it  appears,  seems  able  to  lift 
up  my  spirit.  Modern  young  critics  talk  of  escape  in 
literature,  but  it  seems  one  can  only  escape  when  there 
is  nothing  very  serious  to  escape  from.  Like  a  de- 
bauchee who  had  killed  his  palate  or  one  who  has  swal- 
lowed an  unwholesome  dish  overnight,  the  zestful  taste 
for  an  essay  of  Elia,  the  gustatory  rolling  under  the 
tongue  of  sentences  in  "  Religio  Medici  ",  the  keen  pleas- 
ure in  a  Dryden  preface,  all  these  are  now  impossible. 
The  savor  of  them  has  died  for  me.  My  dreams  of 
Maecenasship  for  Tudor  Texts  have  gone  a-glimmering. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       117 

For  joy  in  books  the  tranquil  heart  is  needed.  The 
world  has  been  too  much  with  me  and  neither  poppy  nor 
mandragora  can  banish  the  effects  of  it.  There  is  no 
balm  to  sane  me. 

t 

There  was  escape  after  all,  though  —  if  not  in  read- 
ing, then,  in  writing.  I  can  quite  understand  now  the 
persistence  of  diarists  in  the  world.  I  had  no  sooner 
written  down  the  words  above  than  a  tremor  of  resolu- 
tion shook  ire  and  I  went  into  the  baking  city  in  quest  of 
livelihood.  1  found  nothing  save  exhaustion,  but  it  is 
certain  that  in  Crestlands  I  shall  find  even  less, 

I  looked  upon  the  teeming  streets  wide-eyed  like  a 
gawk,  surprised  anew  that  so  many  should  find  a  foot- 
hold and  sustenance  where  I  had  failed.  The  mystery 
of  that  will  always  baffle  me.  The  deepening  gloom  gave 
way,  however,  when  I  entered  Andrews'  bookshop.  His 
welcome  was  warm. 

"  Stranger,"  he  greeted  me  cordially,  "  come  into  your 
own." 

"  I  don't  deny  I  have  felt  it  calling,"  I  admitted. 

"  'Course  you  did  —  there  is  nothing  else  in  the 
world." 

"  Ah,  how  much  else,  Andrews ! "  I  told  him  sadly. 

Whether  he  has  heard  of  my  failure  or  not  I  cannot 
tell.  If  he  has,  he  was  tact  itself. 

"  Here  are  some  beautiful  things  for  you  to  see,"  he 
announced,  bustling  as  he  led  me  to  a  table  in  the  rear 
of  the  shop.  I  looked  at  his  beautiful  things  and  was 
able  to  give  him  some  useful  points  about  one  or  two  of 
them.  He  has  actually  come  upon  a  Caxton,  the  lucky 
devil !  This  was  indeed  "  my  own  ",  as  Andrews  was 
shrewd  enough  to  divine.  Ca  me  conncnt.  And  his 
courtesy  and  his  deference  were  strangely  consoling  in 
the  light  of  my  recent  experiences.  Courtesy  and  defer- 


118       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

ence  cost  others  so  little,  but  what  refreshing  manna  they 
are  to  one's  self-respect! 

I  go  on  tramping  the  pavements  of  New  York  and  I 
wish  there  were  more  point  in  my  trampings. 

Every  morning  I  go  forth  with  a  faint  glow  of  hope, 
and  the  dim  basis  of  my  hope,  when  I  come  to  think  it 
out,  is  something  like  this :  In  the  haunts  of  men  I  may 
meet  somebody,  an  old  acquaintance  who  may  know  or 
hear  of  something  whereby  a  broken  reed  like  myself,  a 
pronounced  failure,  may  get  the  chance  of  earning  a 
livelihood.  A  desperate  enough  situation  when  reduced 
to  the  glaring  light  of  plain  speech  —  but  that  is  the  best 
that  I  am  able  to  do.  If  only  Dibdin  were  here!  De- 
spairingly I  am  in  need  of  a  friend.  But  my  past  life 
has  separated  and  insulated  me,  so  that  when  I  think  of 
friends  and  my  thought  convulsively  darts  out  this  way 
and  that,  it  encounters  nothing  but  vacancy,  empty  air. 
Fred  Salmon  is  avoiding  the  Club.  He  is  the  only  one 
who  had  reached  to  me  from  the  past,  and  the  result  I 
have  already  recorded.  I  am  not  eager  to  meet  him, 
the  flgh  I  have  worn  out  any  hostility  I  may  have  felt  to- 
ward him.  C'est  un  mauisais  metier  que  celui  de  me  dire. 
I  find  my  inward  man  the  better  for  thinking  of  Fred 
neutrally,  when  I  think  of  him  at  all. 

Illness  was  the  one  thing  lacking  to  my  ineffable  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  so  infallibly  illness  has  appeared. 

Jimmie  came  down  with  measles  on  Saturday  and  yes- 
terday Alicia  followed  his  example.  The  crumpling  of 
Alicia  under  illness  has  proved  like  the  shattering  of  a 
column  in  the  edifice  of  my  household.  The  whole  in- 
secure structure  is  tottering.  And  though  she  is  burning 
with  fever,  the  unhappy  girl  is  murmuring  with  anxiety 
that  stockings  go  unmended  and  buttons  unsewn. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       119 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  that,  little  girl,"  I  keep  tell- 
ing her.  "  Griselda  will  do  those  things." 

"  Griselda  has  too  much  to  do  as  it  is,"  she  gulps  and 
the  tears  start  to  her  hot  eyes.  I  have  isolated  her  and 
Jimmie  in  my  room  and  Randolph  and  Laura  are  cau- 
tioned to  keep  as  far  as  possible  away  from  them.  I  re- 
member the  time  when  I  would  have  flown  from  the  fear 
of  infection  as  from  the  plague,  but  now  my  anxieties 
are  of  a  wholly  different  nature.  Jimmie  is  mending 
now,  but  Alicia  is  far  more  ill  than  she  knows. 

Griselda  has  undertaken  the  stockings  and  at  night, 
when  I  sit  watching  and  waiting  for  sounds  from  either 
of  my  invalids,  I  operate  upon  the  buttons.  It  is  curi- 
ous how  much  art  enters  into  the  sewing  of  a  button.  A 
dog  of  a  bachelor  though  I  have  ever  been,  I  have  never 
been  compelled  to  learn  that  handicraft  before.  But  I 
have  learned  from  Griselda,  who  smiled  crookedly  when 
she  imparted  the  law,  that  if  you  twist  the  thread  around 
several  times  after  you  have  sewn  it,  the  whole  thing 
acquires,  relatively,  the  strength  of  a  cable.  To  your 
punctured  fingers  you  attend  afterwards. 

Alicia,  awakening  at  midnight,  sat  up  in  bed  and 
caught  me  at  my  task;  she  moaned  most  dolefully.  I 
hastily  put  Jimmie' s  little  "  undies  "  behind  me,  but  too 
late. 

:<  You'll  never  want  me  —  or  need  me  again  —  what's 
the  use  of  getting  well  ?  "  she  wailed  weakly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  shall,  Alicia  —  more  than  ever,"  I  has- 
tened to  assure  her. 

'''  You  do  everything  now  that  I  ought  to  do,"  she 
pressed  with  febrile  insistence.  "  I  shall  be  no  use  any 
more." 

"  But  don't  you  see,  Alicia,"  I  argued,  touching  her 
hot  forehead,  "  that  I  shall  have  to  be  earning  money 
while  you  are  doing  the  buttons?  I  ought  to  be  earn- 


120       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

ing  it  now,  so  get  well  as  quickly  as  you  can.  Jimmie 
sees  it;  he's  much  better  already."  That  logic  seemed 
to  soothe  her  more  than  I  had  expected.  She  caught  my 
hand  impulsively  and  pressed  it  to  her  cheek.  The  tre- 
mendous part  played  by  affection  in  the  lives  of  children 
is  a  never-ceasing  wonder  to  me. 

Alicia  is  convalescent  again,  laus  Domini,  and  Jimmie 
is  now  running  about  the  little  house  filling  it  with  noise 
—  which  is  music  to  my  ears.  Laura  and  Randolph  have 
fortunately  thus  far  escaped  infection.  Jimmie  is  want- 
ing to  resume  "  wolling  up  and  down  "  the  slope  again, 
but  this  is  still  verboten. 

I  can  now  take  up  my  journeys  into  town  again  and 
I  note  with  a  pang  that  I  am  growing  shabby.  The  year- 
ly purchases  of  clothes  had  been  as  regular  with  me  as  my 
meals,  but  I  have  ordered  no  clothes  for  the  spring  or 
summer.  Odd,  what  a  deleterious  effect  the  shabbiness 
of  clothes  has  upon  one's  consciousness!  The  tinge  of 
inferiority  it  brings  touches  some  very  tender  places  in 
one's  spirit,  almost  like  a  shabby  conscience.  But  the 
doctor  of  the  neighborhood,  a  contemplative  fellow  who 
obviously  knows  his  business,  though  he  talks  of  his  lab- 
oratory and  his  experiments  like  an  alchemist,  has  earned 
the  clothes  that  I  must  do  without.  And  of  the  two  I 
needed  them  more. 

My  search  is  ended.  There  is  jubilation  in  my  heart 
again.  I  have  fallen  into  a  livelihood;  like  the  brick- 
layer who  used  to  fare  forth,  dinner  pail  in  hand,  I  have 
found  work. 

And  the  way  of  it  was  an  odd  little  stroke  of  Fate,  a 
whimsicality  that  would  have  pleased  the  ironic  soul  of 
Thomas  Hardy. 

An  old  college  friend  of  mine,  Minot  Blackden,  whom 


I  used  to  call  Leonardo  da  Vinci  because  he  was  so  full 
of  ideas  and  inventions,  had  rediscovered,  he  said,  the 
art  of  glass-staining.  After  a  five  years'  residence  in 
Italy,  on  a  modest  patrimony,  most  of  which  had  gone 
into  glass  or  into  stain,  he  had  returned  to  his  native  land 
and  set  up  a  shop  a  la  William  Morris  somewhere  in  the 
region  of  Bleecker  Street,  and  proceeded  to  stain  glass. 
He  had  had  some  newspaper  publicity  recently,  and  there 
were  cuts  of  his  work. 

While  passing  a  church  in  my  hot  and  dusty  peregrina- 
tions, it  occurred  to  me  that  here  might  be  a  chance  of 
serving  him  and  also  myself.  By  writing  an  interesting 
booklet  about  his  craft,  illustrating  it  profusely  and  send- 
ing it  with  personal  letters  to  all  the  vestries  in  the  coun- 
try, I  might  bring  a  flood  of  custom  to  his  shop.  It  is 
with  this  forlorn  proposal  that  I  was  blundering  about 
to  discover  Minot  Blackden.  I  failed  to  find  his  shop, 
but  I  came  face  to  face  with  my  old  Salmon  and  Byrd 
acquaintance,  Signor  Visconti. 

In  his  palm  beach  suit  and  Panama  hat,  Visconti  made 
a  splendent  and  impressive  figure  in  the  purlieus  of 
Bleecker  Street. 

"  Ah-h,  Signor  Byrd,"  he  cried  with  Latin  cordiality, 
seizing  my  hand  in  both  his  own,  "  you  are  what  you 
call  a  sight  for  sick  eyes.  I  have  often  wonder  about 
you  —  you  must  come  into  my  banca  —  we  must  have 
leetla  refreshment ! " 

Refreshment  appealed  to  me  at  the  moment  and  gladly 
I  accompanied  him  to  his  private  office  in  the  bank,  that 
stands  between  a  junk  warehouse  and  a  delicatessen  em- 
porium. With  a  charming  tact  he  touched  upon  the  hard 
luck  of  Salmon  and  Byrd  and  dismissed  the  subject  for 
good. 

Briefly  —  for  him  —  that  is,  with  a  wealth  of  gesture 
and  illustration,  he  informed  me  that  he  was  looking  for 


122       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

a  man  for  his  enlarging  bank,  and  asked  me  to  recom- 
mend one. 

"  I  want  a  fina  man  —  "he  explained.  "  American 
gentleman  —  who  speeks  a  leetla  da  Italian  —  who  put 
up  what  you  call  a  fina  fronta  —  understand  me?  " 

"  A  fine  front,"  I  mused  aloud,  "  and  speaks  Italian  — 
no,  Signor  Visconti,  we  had  no  such  young  man  in  our 
office.     I  can  think  of  no  one  I  could  recommend." 

He  was  obviously  nonplused. 

"  I  thinka,"  he  said,  with  a  gesture  of  final  resolution, 
"  if  I  could  finda  some  gentleman  lika  you,  Mr.  Byrd,  he 
would  be  precisamente  what  I  look  for.  I  know,"  he 
added  hastily  with  an  apologetic  laugh,  "  man  lika  you, 
Signor,  be  hard  to  find !  "  And  again  he  laughed  heart- 
ily, though  watching  me  between  narrowed  eyelids.  His 
drift  was  now  obvious.  I  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  if  it  comes  to  that,  Signor  Visconti,"  I  an- 
swered slowly,  "  I  am  doing  nothing  in  particular  just 
now.  I  may  be  utterly  no  good  for  you,  but  —  but 
if  —  " 

"Ah,  you  would  try  old  Visconti,  Signor!  "  And  up 
flew  his  arms  like  windmills.  "  You  no  ashamed  to  work 
in  vot  you  Americans  call  da  Guinea  colony !  —  no,  no!  " 
He  noted  the  deprecating  shadow  on  my  face.  "  Ah, 
you  understanda  —  you  know  the  granda  history  of  the 
Italiana  people.  You  —  but,  Mr.  Byrd  —  "  and  with  an 
admirable  histrionic  transition  he  suddenly  turned  grave 
and  sad  —  "  Mr.  Byrd,  you  are  the  very  man  I  looka 
for,"  and  he  gripped  both  my  hands.  "  But,  Meester 
Byrd  —  I  fear  I  cannot  afford  to  pay  what  you  would 
expect.  Ah,  sacra  —  if  I  could!  You,  the  very  man  — 
Dio  — "  and  he  clapped  a  hand  dramatically  to  his 
forehead  —  "  the  very  man,  but !  —  "  and  his  full  smile 
of  sad  and  wistful  regret  seemed  genuine  for  all  its  his- 
trionic value. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       123 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  pay,  Signor  Visconti  ?  "  I 
inquired. 

"  I  can  only  pay  to  start,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  with 
the  round  eyes  of  a  man  facing  the  inevitable,  "  thirty- 
fiva,  maybe  forty  dollars  week.  Too  leetla,  I  know,"  he 
added  slowly,  letting  his  hands  fall  on  his  knees  with 
resignation. 

"  Very  well,  Signor  Visconti,"  I  said.  "If  you  will 
try  me,  I  shall  be  glad  to  come  at  forty  dollars." 

Visconti  fairly  leaped  at  my  hand  and  the  bargain  was 
struck. 

I  am  to  begin  earning  a  livelihood  on  Monday. 

Who  said  that  adversity  is  the  best  teacher?  Possibly 
it  is,  but  gladness  is  the  ablest  cocktail.  There  is  no 
stimulant  like  a  little  success. 

I  am  an  august  personage. 

I  shall  choke  with  pride,  so  august  am  I  become  in 
the  Banca  e  Casa  Commerciale  Visconti. 

I  call  up  the  National  City  Bank  concerning  the  price 
of  bonds,  or  the  rate  of  exchange,  in  English  so  presum- 
ably impeccable  that  Signor  Visconti  visibly  puffs  out  his 
magnificent  chest  as  he  listens.  There  is  a  divinity  that 
shapes  our  "  frontas  ",  rough-hew  them  how  we  will. 

"  Visconti's  speaking,"  I  say  with  firmness  and  the 
head  of  Visconti's  curls  his  fine  dyed  mustache  and 
turns  away,  glowing  with  ill-concealed  pleasure.  This 
is  seemingly  what  the  head  of  Visconti's  has  been  wait- 
ing for.  Mentally  I  offer  a  fervent  prayer  that  he  may 
never  be  disillusioned  as  to  my  capacity. 

I  toil  as  I  have  never  toiled  before.  I  come  early  and 
go  late  and  frequently  have  my  lunch  sent  in  from  the 
adjoining  delicatessen,  powdered  no-  doubt  by  the  con- 
tiguous junk  house,  and  the  "  boss  ",  as  the  others  call 
him,  smiles  with  a  rare  unction  that  spells  approval. 


124.       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

With  difficulty  we  are  actually  living  on  my  income. 
If  I  had  the  half  of  my  capital  back  that  I  had  no  busi- 
ness to  put  into  Salmon  and  Byrd  —  but  ifs  inaugurate 
depressing  trains  of  thoughts.  My  library  alone  stands 
between  me  and  disaster,  so  like  a  prudent  man  of  busi- 
ness I  have  begun  a  catalogue  of  it  and  I  am  training 
Alicia  to  help  me.  I  must  not  again  be  caught  by  so 
desperate  a  prospect  as  recently  faced  me. 

How  my  little  household  had  been  affected  by  my  late 
slough  of  despond  I  realize  only  now  that  I  have  passed 
it.  Laughter  and  high  spirits  seem  to  have  been  un- 
corked again.  We  play  and  we  rollic  and  chatter, 
more  than  in  the  early  days  of  our  ine  de  famille  — 
how  long  ago  is  it  ?  —  something  less  than  a  year,  no 
longer ! 

It  is  now  the  end  of  September  and  the  schools  have 
reopened.  We  are  all  sanely  and  industriously  busy,  like 
a  normal  American  family,  and  as  though  its  so-called 
head  were  an  adequately  competent  being,  and  not  the 
bungling  masquerading  amateur  that  he  is.  "  Who  never 
ate  in  tears  his  bread  "  —  well,  we  have  made  intimate 
acquaintance  of  poverty  and  we  fear  it  less  than  of  yore 
—  though  we  hate  it  more.  It  may  be  an  impostor,  but 
who  maintains  that  all  impostors  are  harmless?  I  cer- 
tainly would  deny  that  premise,  so  —  we  are  cataloguing 
the  library. 

"  Here  is  '  The  Anatomy  of  Melancholy '  by  Burton," 
announces  Alicia,  taking1  down  a  volume. 

"  Small  quarto,  printed  at  Oxford,  1621,"  I  finish  for 
her. 

"  Yes,"  she  breathes,  marveling  wide-eyed.  "  How 
can  you  remember  such  things,  Uncle  Ranny  ?  "  for  so  I 
have  asked  her  to  call  me. 

"How  can  I  remember?"  I  ask  in  surprise.  "How 
can  I  remember  that  you  are  Alicia  Palmer,  close  to  the 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       125 

towering  age  of  fifteen,  or  that  Jimmie  Pendleton  is 
five?" 

"  But  we  —  are  people,"  avers  Alicia,  "  and  we  are  — 
yours."  I  own  to  a  slight  thrill  at  this  sweet  investiture, 
implicit  in  her  words,  but  I  seem  obtuse  to  it. 

"  But  so  is  a  great  book  a  person,"  I  sententiously  in- 
form her,  "  and  '  Oxford,  1621  ',  means  a  first  edition, 
Alicia  —  not  merely  a  person  but  a  personage.  That 
book  is  as  proud  an  aristocrat  as  though  it  were  plas- 
tered with  coronets  and  simply  throbbing  with  Norman 
blood.  There  is  a  whole  heraldry  about  it  —  it  is  a 
prince  among  books.  And  all,  Alicia,  because  it  aroused 
men's  interest  and  has  given  them  delight  from  about 
the  time  the  Pilgrims  first  landed  at  Plymouth.  It's  a 
book  that  could  take  Doctor  Johnson  out  of  bed  two 
hours  sooner  than  he  wished  to  rise.  Also,  if  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst,  it  could  feed  us  for  a  time,  and  that 
is  very  important,  isn't  it,  Alicia  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  breathes  in  awe  which  for  some  reason  de- 
lights me.  "  What  a  wonderful  thing  it  must  be  to 
write  a  great  book."  And  she  fingers  the  next  volume 
with  even  greater  reverence. 

"  The  '  Life  of  Edward  Malone ',  by  Sir  James  Prior," 
reads  Alicia.  "  Is  that  a  prince  among  books,  too?  " 

"  No,"  I  answer.  "  That  is  just  a  friend.  Malone, 
you  see,  was  crossed  in  love  in  the  days  of  Doctor  John- 
son, and  by  way  of  consolation  became  a  book-collector 
and  a  Shakesperian  commentator.  They  say  the  Irish 
are  fickle.  But  here  is  one  who  could  never  love  again. 
So  whenever  I  read  his  life,  I  think  I  see  through  a  sort 
of  mist  the  lovely  lady  whom  he  lost  and  all  about  him  is 
curiously  dear  to  me.  He  wouldn't  feed  us  for  very 
long,  Alicia,  but  he  has  given  me  many  hours  of 
pleasure." 

"Are  book-collectors  people  —  crossed  in  love?"  she 


126       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

inquires  with  gentle  subtlety,  and  I  am  surprised  that  one 
of  her  youthfulness  should  be  arrested  by  that  particular 
point. 

"If  you  mean  me,"  I  answer  quietly,  "  then  I  can  tell 
you  that  I  wasn't.  No  one  ever  loved  me  enough  to 
cross  me.  I  am  a  collector  by  a  sort  of  —  spontaneous 
degeneration." 

Alicia  throws  her  fine  young  head  back  and  peals  with 
delicious  laughter.  Afterwards  I  catch  her  smiling  to 
herself  as  she  copies  down  the  titles. 

I  am  amazed  to  note  how  lovely  that  child  has  become 
since  she  has  been  here.  Her  thin,  frightened  expressioft 
has  given  way  to  one  of  happy  confidence.  All  too  soon 
she  will  be  enriching  some  young  man's  life  with  happi- 
ness. Her  interest  in  my  musty  old  books  has  given  her 
a  value  of  companionship  in  my  eyes  that  I  trust  I  shall 
not  exaggerate  at  the  expense  of  my  niece  and  nephews 
—  though  Alicia  is  hardly  one  to  take  advantage  of  such 
a  situation.  Nevertheless,  I  must  be  on  my  guard. 

After  all,  though  she  is  the  chartered  custodian  of  the 
others,  and  quis  custo,diet  ipsos  —  who  shall  watch  over 
Alicia?  Obviously,  it  is  my  task  to  improve  her  mind 
in  order  to  make  her  the  better  guardian  for  them. 

And  Alicia's  mind  is  improving  apace. 

"  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  inquired  the  other  day,  "  may  I 
ask  what  that  first  edition  of  Boswell's  'Johnson',  cost 
you?" 

"  It  costs  me  nothing  but  a  sleepless  hour  now  and 
then,"  I  told  her.  "  It  is  not  paid  for.  But  I  owe  An- 
drews four  hundred  dollars  for  it.  God  knows  when  I 
shall  pay  it.  But  why  do  you  ask,  Alicia?  " 

"  I  have  just  read  in  Book  Prices  Current  that  a  copy 
was  sold  by  Sotheby's  in  London  for  one  hundred 
pounds." 

"  Already !  "  I  murmured  and  I  was  lost  in  admira- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       127 

tion  not  of  the  accretion  in  value  —  I  am  used  to  that  — 
but  of  the  girl's  facility  in  acquiring  the  interest  and  the 
jargon  of  my  hobby. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Andrews  must  have  a  wonderful  place !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  That  must  be  a  splendid  business. 
Where  is  he  ?  How  I'd  love  to  see  it !  " 

"  You  shall  some  day,  Alicia,"  I  told  her.  "  He  is  in 
Twenty-ninth  Street,  and  an  excellent  fellow  he  is." 

I  then  explained  to  her  how  Andrews  had  insisted  upon 
planting  the  book  on  my  shelves. 

Alicia  gazed  at  me  in  silence  for  a  moment,  then  sud- 
denly tears  glittered  in  her  eyes. 

"  It's  because  of  us,"  she  said,  with  a  quivering  lip, 
"  because  we  came  that  you  couldn't  buy  it ! " 

"  Don't  talk  rubbish,  Alicia,"  I  flared  at  her.  "  A  col- 
lector gets  almost  as  much  pleasure  in  thinking  of  books 
he  can't  get  as  in  those  he  buys.  Don't  you  think  you 
alone  are  worth  more  to  me  than  an  old  Boswell  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  murmured  gloomily,  "  but  I'm  going  to  try 
to  be." 


BOOK   TWO 


CHAPTER  XII 

MANY  months  have  passed  since  I  last  made  an  entry 
in  this,  which  I  mean  to  be  a  record  of  my  life  for  later 
years,  when  I  am  grown  old  and  white  and  memory  gives 
back  vividly  only  the  days  of  childhood. 

It  must  be  that  the  stoking  of  the  furnace  below  all 
winter,  or  else  my  absorption  in  Visconti's,  has  banished 
reflection  upon  events  from  out  of  my  mind.  It  is  not 
reflection  that  was  banished,  however,  -but  only  the  energy 
to  record  it.  The  folk  who  work  the  treadmill  leave  few 
records  behind  them.  And  I  am  of  the  treadmill,  occu- 
pant of  an  office  chair,  one  of  the  gray  mass  of  dwellers 
in  the  suburbs  of  life. 

The  office  of  Visconti's,  that  was  at  first  like  a  queer 
old  wharf  in  some  foreign  city  to  a  ship  from  distant 
parts,  has  grown  familiar  and  almost  homelike,  so  that 
I  feel  the  barnacles  gathering  about  my  hulk  at  the  moor- 
ing place. 

It  is  ever  the  same.  I  come  and  I  labor  and  I  go. 
The  chair  and  the  desk  await  me  of  a  morning  and  by 
ten  o'clock  it  is  as  though  I  had  never  left  them.  I  go 
forth  of  an  afternoon  into  freedom  and  feel  a  momen- 
tary desire  to  wander  about  as  of  old.  The  bland  front- 
ages of  New  York  still  have  a  lure  for  me.  But  the 
nestlings  for  whom  I  am  laboring  are-  at  Crestlands  and 
to  them  I  automatically  hasten  my  steps. 

But  is  all  that  about  to  end  ? 

To-day,  for  the  first  time  since  his  disappearance,  I 
heard  of  poor  Laura's  husband, —  Pendleton. 


132       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

For  to-day  I  have  received  an  astonishing  letter  from 
Dibdin,  and  it  is  that,  1  suppose,  which  has  stirred  me  to 
writing  again. 

"  Be  prepared,"  Dibdin's  letter  begins,  after  his  usual 
abrupt  manner,  "  be  prepared  for  a  sort  of  shock." 

"  A  week  ago  I  arrived  in  Yokohama  with  half  a 
schooner-load  of  stocks  and  stones,  carvings,  idols,  etc., 
homeward  bound. 

"If  you  have  ever  been  in  Yokohama  you  will  remem- 
ber the  Grand  Hotel  on  the  Bund."  Yes,  I  do  remember. 
It  was  the  one  bright  spot  for  me  in  Japan  on  my  brief 
and  disappointing  journey  six  years  ago.  Heaven  knows 
why  I  went  there.  Once  I  had  viewed  the  Temples  at 
Nikko,  the  sacred  deer  on  the  Island  of  Miyajima  and 
the  volcanic  cone  of  Fujiyama,  there  was  nothing  else 
to  do.  I  am  not  an  ethnologist  and  there  were  no  book- 
shops. While  awaiting  my  steamer,  the  only  refuge  was 
that  self-same  Grand  Hotel  at  Yokohama,  where  you  can 
still  sit  in  a  chair  facing  a  window,  as  commercial  trav- 
elers in  provincial  hotels  in  America  sit,  and  look  out 
across  the  water  towards  Tokio,  and  smoke  and  idle  and 
gossip.  Of  an  afternoon  there  is  tea  with  excellent  little 
cakes  —  served  by  Japanese  girl's  in  kimonos  so  gorge- 
ous that  even  a  geisha  would  be  too  modest  to  wear  them 
in  the  street.  The  color,  however,  is  meant  for  western 
eyes.  The  ladies,  American  and  English  from  Tokio 
and  thereabout,  wives  of  commission  merchants,  agents, 
naval  officers,  diplomats,  tourists,  gather  around  and  do 
what  they  can  to  annihilate  reputations, —  as  is  the  way 
the  world  over. 

There  is  also  a  bar  —  the  longest  in  Asia.  Inciden- 
tally, every  bar  in  the  East  is  the  longest  and  men  from 
Hongkong,  Shanghai,  Peking,  Kobe  and  Yokohama 
carry  the  measurements  of  their  respective  bars  in  their 
heads  for  purposes  of  competitive  argument.  We  all 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       183 

need  something  to  brag  about,  and  there's  little  else  in 
those  parts.  When  the  ladies  have  finished  their  tea  and 
have  gone  to  their  rooms  or  their  'rickshaws,  the  bar  at 
the  Grand  is  the  next  halting  stage  for  the  men.  I  have 
not  thought  of  it  for  years,  though  it  is  vivid  enough  to 
me  now.  It  is  one  of  the  five  points  on  the  globe  where, 
if  you  loiter  long  enough,  you  are  certain  to  encounter 
every  one  you  ever  knew.  But  —  Pendleton ! 

"  If  you  remember  this  setting,"  runs  Dibdin's  letter, 
"  you  will  realize  how  easy  it  was  even  for  a  bear  like 
me  to  pick  up  quickly  the  gossip  of  the  place  and,  in- 
cidentally, the  legend  of  Patterson.  Patterson  I  learned 
was  a  drifter,  an  idler,  a  gambler,  and  a  staunch  support 
of  the  Grand  bar.  He  is  adroit,  suave,  pleasant,  shifty 
—  an  American.  Some  trader  found  him  on  the  beach 
in  the  Marquesas,  took  him  along  for  company  among 
the  islands  and  ultimately  landed  him  here.  He  has 
traded  in  skins,  in  silk,  in  insurance;  is  said  to  have  all 
but  killed  a  man  in  a  card  brawl  and  has  cleaned  out 
many  a  tourist  at  poker.  Now,  he  is  no  longer  allowed 
to  play  cards  at  the  Grand. 

"  I  had  a  curiosity  to  see  this  bird  of  plumage  and  two 
days  ago,  Mainwaring,  the  excellent  manager  of  this 
hotel,  pointed  him  out  to  me. 

"  Judge  of  my  amazement,  as  novelists  say,  when  I 
recognized  in  Patterson  none  other  than  the  author  of  all 
your  troubles,  your  vanished  brother-in-law  —  Pendleton! 

"  Will  it  surprise  you  to  learn  that  my  first  emotion 
was  a  desire  to  rush  upon  him  as  he  leaned  across  the 
bar  and  drive  a  knife  into  his  back  ? 

"  Instead,  however,  I  got  Mainwaring  to  introduce  me 
and  if  Pendleton  was  surprised,  he  concealed  it  success- 
fully. Presently  he  was  drinking  my  liquor  and  chat- 
tering about  the  islands  from  which  I  am  a  recent  ar- 
rival. If  I  disguised  the  cold  rage  I  felt  against  the 


134       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

man  you  must  give  me  credit  for  more  diplomacy  than 
you  ordinarily  do. 

"  '  You  talk  like  a  New  Yorker/  I  presently  let  fafl 
in  a  casual  manner. 

"  '  Ah,  there  you  have  me! '  he  threw  out  in  a  blandly 
mysterious  sort  of  way.  '  Truth  is,  I  don't  know  where 
I  come  from ! ' 

"  In  short,  he  tried  on  the  lapsed  memory  sort  of  thing. 
Woke  up  one  day  to  find  himself  at  Manila,  Didn't 
know  his  own  name  or  who  he  was  or  whence.  Initials 
on  his  linen  were  J.  P.  so  he  took  the  name  of  Patterson 
—  as  good  as  any  other,  and  so  forth.  Very  sad.  But 
then  one  must  take  life  as  one  finds  it.  Some  of  us  are 
elected  to  martyrdom  in  this  world.  That,  you  under- 
stand, was  his  drift. 

" '  Well/  I  told  him  calmly,  '  if  you  really  want  to 
know  who  you  are,  I  can  tell  you/ 

"  He  turned,  I  thought,  a  shade  paler,  but  he  played 
his  part  smoothly. 

"'  You  don't  mean  it ! '  he  exclaimed  with  a  quite 
seraphic  ecstasy.  '  You  know  me !  My  God,  man,  you 
are  my  deliverer  come  at  last ! ' 

"  *  You  are  Jim  Pendleton/  I  told  him  quietly  and  then 
I  told  him  a  few  other  things.  My  reasoning  was  like 
this:  If  he  is  the  thorough  hound  I  thought  he  was,  he 
would  have  an  excellent  chance  of  bolting  —  and  good 
riddance.  If  there  was  a  shred  of  decency  left  in  the 
man,  now  was  the  time  for  it  to  show. 

"  Well,  he  surprised  me.  I  saw  real  tears  in  his  eyes. 
He  begged  for  every  detail  I  could  give  him.  His  voice 
broke  when  he  tried  to  ask  questions  about  Laura  and  the 
kids.  He  has  not  bolted.  He  is  quite  pathetically  at- 
tached to  me.  I  am  dashed  if  I  can  tell  whether  it's  real 
or  not.  I  don't  believe  for  a  minute  in  the  lapsed  mem- 
ory dodge,  but  I  am  flabbergasted.  He  seems  so  pitifully 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       135 

keen  for  every  scrap  I  can  tell  him.  Maybe  the  poor 
brute  is  really  ashamed  of  his  past  and  is  trying  only  to 
save  his  face  under  this  rigmarole  of  lost  identity?  He 
clings  to  me  and  I  have  him,  so  to  speak,  under  observa- 
tion. If  it  should  even  seem  remotely  possible  to  make 
a  man  of  him  again,  don't  you  think  the  risk  of  bringing 
him  home  might  be  worth  taking  ?  I  don't  know,  I  don't 
know.  I  shall  use  the  best  judgment  I've  got  about  me, 
but  don't  for  a  moment  think  I'll  let  you  down.  It's  your 
interest  I'm  thinking  of  and  the  interest  of  the  kids. 

"  I  can't  leave  here  for  several  weeks  yet.  That  ought 
to  give  me  time  to  take  his  measure.  I  know  what  he 
has  been.  Question  is,  can  a  leopard  change  his  spots, 
or  a  beachcomber  his  character?  We'll  see,  Randolph, 
my  boy,  we'll  see  what  we  see.  Hard  luck  is  hard  luck, 
but  this  man  —  well,  I  needn't  tell  you.  There  is  such 
a  thing,  to  be  sure,  as  trying  back.  I'd  like  to  have  a 
second  chance  myself,  if  I  behaved  like  a  villain.  But  of 
this  fellow  I  am  far  from  sure.  I  will  say,  though,  that 
he's  drinking  less  and  trying  to  keep  decent  not  only  in 
my  own  sight,  but  to  the  surprise  of  all  the  white  colony 
here. 

;<  You  will  hear  from  me  again  before  long." 
As  I  read,  I  felt  gradually  overshadowed  by  the  im- 
mense somber  fact  conveyed  in  this  letter.  It  was  like  a 
black  cloud  bank  that  comes  up  swiftly,  blotting  out  the 
sun  from  over  the  landscape.  It  was  not  a  thing  to 
blink,  to  wave  aside  or  to  dismiss  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders.  It  was  instant  and  tyrannous,  demanding 
anew  urgent  thought  and  decision.  Fortunately  I  am 
nolonger  the  same  creature  that  was  bodily  hurled  from 
tranquillity  and  leisure,  like  a  monk  from  his  cell,  into 
the  cold  wind-swept  ways  of  life.  I  seem  a  little  less 
like  chaff  in  the  breeze.  My  backbone  seemed  actually 
to  stiffen  and  settle  as  I  posed  the  problem. 


136       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

The  problem  is  the  fate  of  the  children.  To  receive 
and  re-create  Pendleton  means  to  give  them  up. 

Well  —  and  did  I  not  assume  their  care  only  because 
there  was  none  else?  Now  there  would  be  —  there 
might  be  —  some  one  else.  Pendleton  has  a  legal  right 
to  his  own  children  and,  if  he  could  establish  it  satisfac- 
torily, no  doubt  a  moral  right  as  well. 

The  advent  of  Pendleton  might  prove  to  hare  incal- 
culable advantages  for  myself.  Here,  on  the  one  side, 
is  the  treadmill.  On  the  other  there  is,  or  there  was, 
ease  and  leisure  and  dreams.  My  small  competency  is 
gone  in  the  wake  of  that  man's  destructive  progress. 
But  for  myself,  I  might  manage  an  easier  and  more 
agreeable  way  of  subsisting  than  the  way  of  Visconti's. 
Those  are  the  cold  facts,  clearly  enough  —  but  somehow 
they  will  not  let  me  rest.  My  world  has  been  violently 
jarred,  for  all  my  painful  calmness,  and  I  seem  unable 
to  fit  the  parts  again  into  exactly  the  old  solidity  of 
groove  and  joint.  There  are  lurking  interstices  which 
I  cannot  fill.  "  Who  is  Kim  —  Kim  —  Kim  ?  "  the  hero 
of  an  unforgettable  tale  was  wont  to  ask  himself.  And 
he  felt  his  soul  floating  off  and  dipping  into  the  infinite. 
Likewise,  I  ask  myself  now,  Who  is  Randolph  Byrd? 
And  the  startling  truth  returns  that  the  children  in  my 
house  and  I  are  inseparable,  that  I  and  they  are  one! 

With  this  and  the  fact  that  Pendleton  is  in  all  likeli- 
hood coming  back  to  claim  them,  I  am,  pending  further 
news  from  Dibdin,  left  to  grapple.  At  any  rate,  Dibdin 
also  is  returning. 

It  is  now  the  spring  and  the  year  is  beginning  to  smile 
again.  I  have  been  prospering  at  Visconti's  and  my  in- 
come is  now  again  the  same  as  it  was  before  ever  the 
children  came  to  me  —  before  I  became  a  business  man. 
But  there  is  not  a  soul  to  whom  I  can  confide  my  new 
dilemma. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       137 

There  is  Minot  Blackden,  the  glass  stainer,  whom  I 
have  finally  discovered  to  be  a  near  neighbor  of  Vis- 
conti's.  To  be  exact,  his  studio  and  living  quarters  are 
in  King  Street,  and  we  sometimes  have  our  lunch  to- 
gether. But  Blackden  is  so  much  in  the  grip  of  his  me- 
dieval art  that  it  gets  into  his  food,  stains  his  tapering 
hands  and  even  spatters  upon  his  finely  pointed  blue-black 
beard.  All  he  can  see  in  me  is  the  Philistine  who  has 
cast  all  else  aside  for  the  sizzling  fleshpots.  When  I. 
chanced  to  mention  having  four  children  in  my  house, 
he  looked  upon  me  as  a  bird-of -Paradise  might  look  upon 
a  polar  bear ;  I  was  to  him  a  visible  but  incredible  symbol 
of  something  strange  and  gross.  There  is  nothing  placid 
or  resigned  about  Blackden.  He  is  intense,  incandes- 
cent. 

"  Do  you  realize,"  he  said  to  me,  "  that  I  am  restoring 
a  lost  art  to  the  world  ?  " 

"  But  does  it  give  you  food  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  What  does  food  matter?  "  he  expostulated.  "  What 
does  anything  else  in  the  world  matter?  " 

Nevertheless,  he  was  eager  to  take  up  my  suggestion 
concerning  the  writing  of  a  booklet  upon  his  new  craft 
and  he  has  been  sending  it  out  broadcast.  But  so  in- 
tensely devotional  is  his  attitude  to  the  whole  business 
that  I  have  not  the  face  to  suggest  payment  for  the  work, 
nor  has  he  referred  to  it  again.  I  know  little  of  his  art, 
but  I  know  that  his  returns  are  increasing.  It  is  obvious 
that  I  cannot  burden  a  soul,  burning  with  that  gemlike 
flame  of  Blackden' s,  with  any  such  confidence  as  the  im- 
pending return  of  Pendleton.  At  times  I  think  that 
Minot  Blackden  and  Gertrude  Bayard  ought  to  marry 
each  other.  They  are  both  so  single-minded  and  so  ab- 
solutely sure  of  themselves.  But  in  the  meantime  there 
is  no  one  I  can  talk  to. 

No — absolutely  no  one. 


138       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Walking  to  Grand  Central  station  these  brilliant  aft- 
ernoons is  a  thing  I  cannot  resist.  It  is  the  only  exercise 
I  get.  Crossing  Washington  Square,  I  strike  into  Fifth 
Avenue  and  by  the  time  I  reach  Fourteenth  Street  I  have 
a  delicious  sense  of  losing  myself,  of  merging  into  the 
crowd,  that  is  very  soothing  after  a  day  in  the  office. 
There  is  nothing  so  stimulating  as  the  energetic  crowd 
in  Fifth  Avenue.  At  Brentano's  bookstore  I  usually 
pause  and  scrutinize  the  window.  I  am  very  sound  in 
the  latest  novels  and  the  newest  developments  in  sta- 
tionery. 

To-day,  as  my  eyes  were  feasting  on  the  cover  jacket 
of  Mr.  Arnold  Bennett's  latest,  a  lady  coming  down  the 
avenue  likewise  paused  before  the  window  and  as  we 
glanced  at  each  other  I  found  I  was  facing  Gertrude, 
Of  course  she  had  a  perfect  right  to  cut  me.  She  smiled 
uncertainly  instead  and  put  out  her  hand. 

"  Hello,  Ranny,"  she  murmured  casually.  "  No  rea- 
son why  we  can't  meet  as  friends,  is  there?  " 

"'Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  I  returned  hastily. 
"Why  should  there  be?" 

"  I  didn't  know  —  but  of  course  you  always  were  a 
sensible  person." 

I  grinned  in  my  guilty  fashion. 

"How  is  everything?"  she  continued  brightly.  "I 
heard  —  about  your  firm.  You  in  business  now  ?  " 

I  mentioned  my  connection  with  Visconti's  Banca  c 
Casa  Commerciale. 

*'  You're  a  sort  of  hero  of  romance,"  she  smiled  spec- 
ulatively  over  my  head.  "  And  the  kiddies,"  she  added, 
"they  all  right?" 

"  Going  strong."  She  made  no  reference  to  Alicia  but 
I  thought  it  only  decent  not  to  leave  her  in  doubt 
"  Everything  in  my  household  is  about  the  same,"  I  said. 
She  nodded. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       139 

The  years  of  our  friendship  flashed  through  my  mind, 
with  a  sense  of  regret  at  the  passing  and  crumbling  of 
human  relations.  Gertrude  would  quite  naturally  have 
been  the  one  I  could  have  talked  to  concerning  the  prob- 
able return  of  Pendleton.  Then,  on  a  sudden  occurred 
one  of  those  coincidences  which  invariably  surprise  me. 
For  what  Gertrude  uttered  quite  carelessly  as  though 
merely  to  fill  the  conversational  pause,  was  this : 

"  No  news  of  their  father,  I  suppose?  " 

I  have  never  yet  lied  to  Gertrude.  I  detest  lies  in  gen- 
eral. I  was  silent.  My  face  must  have  betrayed  me. 
Gertrude  glanced  into  my  eyes  and  in  a  startled  voice 
she  queried : 

"Have  you?" 

Briefly,  without  going  into  detail,  I  told  her. 

"  Why,  Ranny,"  she  exclaimed  with  a  new  manner, 
in  a  new  voice,  "  that's  the  most  wonderful  thing  I  ever 
heard.  Wonderful!  That's  the  greatest  luck  for  you. 
Your  troubles  will  be  over !  " 

"Ah,  will  they?"  I  speculated  ruefully,  rubbing  my 
cheek.  "  That's  the  problem.  Shall  I  be  able  to  trust 
the  children  to  him  again  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  a  —  foolish ! "  she  retorted  in  almost  her 
old  manner.  "  The  responsibility  will  make  a  man  of 
him  again.  Besides  —  you'll  have  to.  They  are  his. 
I  should  think  you'd  jump  for  joy  at  the  relief.  Dear 
me,  what  a  story !  " 

"  Oh  —  er  —  I  must  beg  you  not  —  not  to  mention  a 
word  of  this  to  any  one,"  I  stammered.  "  You  under- 
stand —  it's  a  ticklish  business  —  for  the  children's 
sake." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,"  she  retorted  impatiently.  "  I 
don't  blab.  Will  you  promise  to  let  me  hear  how  — 
how  things  come  out  ?  "  I  promised. 

At  this  moment  Minot  Blackden,  his  eyes  blinded  by 


14-0       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

visions  of  rose  windows,  no  doubt,  bore  down  and  all 
but  collided  with  us.  I  introduced  them  mechanically  to 
mitigate  his  apologies  and  left  them  both  bound  in  the 
same  direction  southward.  Gertrude  waved  a  hand 
gayly. 

"  I'll  expect  good  news ! "  were  her  parting  words. 

So  I  have  told  some  one,  I  reflected,  as  I  made  my  way 
toward  Grand  Central,  and  Gertrude  expressed  what  all 
the  world  would  say :  "  I  ought  to  jump  for  joy  at  the 
relief.  Besides,  I  shall  have  to  turn  them  over  to  Pen- 
dleton."  The  wheels  of  the  train  I  somberly  boarded 
kept  insistently  repeating  the  same  self-evident  opinion. 
In  addition  there  was  the  sickness  of  death  in  my  soul 
for  the  folly  of  having  given  the  thing  away  to  Gertrude, 
of  all  people. 

I  wish  I  were  not  obliged  to  parry  social  invitations 
just  at  present.  The  excellent  Visconti  who  had  asked 
me  to  dinner  two  or  three  times  during  the  winter,  has 
suddenly  taken  a  notion  to  ask  me  at  least  once  every 
week.  I  hope  I  am  not  grown  so  churlish  but  that  I 
appreciate  his  well-meant  courtesy.  But  the  fag  is  too 
great. 

He  has  a  house  in  Thirteenth  Street  neighboring  on 
St.  Vincent's  Hospital,  and  he  also  has  a  motherless 
daughter,  Gina,  abounding  in  vitality,  who  must  be 
amused.  The  proximity  to  the  hospital,  he  intimates, 
the  smell  of  carbolate  and  iodoform,  depress  young  blood, 
and  Gina,  being  super-American,  must  not  be  allowed  to 
remember  that  there  is  anything  unpleasant  in  life.  I 
trust  I  am  not  the  only  vessel  chosen  to  bring  more  lively 
spirits  to  that  girl. 

The  effort  for  me  is  immense.  I  go  to  Crestlands 
after  office  hours,  dress,  return  to  town,  and  then  make 
a  late  train  for  Crestlands  airain.  The  food  is  excellent 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       141 

and  Gina  sings  prettily  in  a  soprano  as  rich  as  her  color- 
ing. But  the  next  morning  Visconti's  does  not  enjoy 
the  fruit  of  my  undimmed  energies. 

More  recently,  Visconti  has  urged  me  not  to  dress  and 
in  that  I  see  the  fine  hand  of  Gina  at  work.  As  an  Amer- 
ican-born girl,  Gina  is  quick  and  eager  to  read  the  signs 
and  weather  indications.  And  though  I  am  becoming 
dexterous  in  excuses,  I  dined  at  the  Visconti's  last  night 
nevertheless.  Gina  sang  the  Sole  mio  and  Una  voce  poco 
fa  and  even  told  my  fortune  in  cards,  predicting  that  I 
should  "  be  married  a  second  time." 

"  But  never  a  first  time  ?  "  I  queried-  simply. 

"  Oh,  then  you've  never  been  married  at  all ! "  Gina 
exulted,  and  she  energetically  read  the  cards  for  me 
afresh.  Her  sortilege  evidently  is  not  a  perfect  science. 
But  it  occurs  to  me  that  by  means  of  it  the  clever  Gina 
found  out  more  about  my  personal  life  than  ever  I  had 
vouchsafed  to  her  in'  all  our  acquaintance. 

When,  I  returned  home  I  found  Alicia  in  my  study 
sitting  late  over  the  catalogue,  a  copy  of  which  she  is 
now  completing.  She  jumped  from  her  chair. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you've  come,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she 
clapped  her  hands  joyously.  "  I  have  found  something 
we  have  overlooked." 

"What  is  it,  Alicia?"  And  my  gaze  was,  I  admit, 
fascinated  by  her  flushed  cheeks  and  starlike  eyes  spar- 
kling with  excitement.  She  seemed  the  Muse  incarnat- 
ing those  books,  the  very  spirit  of  beauty  they  enshrine. 
And  yet  she  is  not  quite  sixteen. 

"  It's  Shelley's  '  Alastor '  !  "  she  cried.  "  And  it's  so 
thin  that  it  had  slipped  in  between  the  covers  of  another 
book.  It's  a  first  edition —  1816,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  Alicia.     And  a  very  beautiful  poem  besides." 

"  Oh,  isn't  it !  "  she  cried  in  exultation.  "  I  have  read 
it  all,  Uncle  Ranny,  and  do  you  know  what  I  found 


142       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

out?"  —  and  her  voice  became  more  solemn  —  "it  is 
your  life  Shelley  was  writing!  " 

I  laughed  uproariously. 

"  Yes,  he  did !  "  flashed  Alicia.  "  Only  your  life  is  so 
much  better.  He  was  so  absorbed  in  himself,  Alastor, 
that  he  died  in  his  loneliness.  And  you  —  you  are  sim- 
ply surrounded  by  people  who  love  you.  You  —  !  " 

And  then,  I  regret  to  record,  self -consciousness  over- 
took Alicia,  She  became  aware  of  her  own  vehemence 
and  blushing  furiously  made  as  if  to  run  out  of  the 
room. 

My  position  of  vantage  near  the  door  enabled  me  to 
stop  her. 

"  Wait,  my  dear,"  I  endeavored  to  lift  her  lowered 
chin.  "  Enthusiasm  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  It's 
one  of  the  finest  things  in  life.  And  I'll  tell  you  more 
—  we  are  always  applying  to  ourselves  everything  we 
read  in  books." 

"  Isn't  that,"  murmured  Alicia  shamefacedly,  "  why 
people  love  books  ?  "  Foolish  girl  —  to  wake  the  sleep- 
ing pedant  in  me ! 

"  Not  altogether,  Alicia.  When  we  get  older  we  be- 
come less  personal.  I  love  books  because  they  hold  the 
truth  and  the  wisdom  of  men's  minds.  And  aside  from 
life  and  love,  Alicia,  wisdom  and  truth  are  the  greatest 
realities  in  the  world.  There  is  death,  of  course,  but 
who  cares  to  dwell  upon  death  ?  " 

"  I  always  did  think  that  life  and  —  and  —  love  were 
greater  than  books,"  stammered  Alicia  earnestly.  "  And 
now  that  you  yourself  say  so,  I  am  sure  of  it!  " 

Astonishing  child!  When  has  she  had  the  time  to 
speculate  upon  the  magnitude  of  life  and  love?  Always 
that  young  thing  keeps  revealing  herself  to  me  afresh. 
I  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Here  was  a 
better  counselor  than  any  one,  Dibdin  excepted,  with 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       143 

whom  I  might  discuss  the  impending  return  of  Pendleton. 

"  Alicia,"  I  began  in  another  tone,  "  there  is  some- 
thing I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  about.  It's  criminally 
late,  I  know,  and  you  ought  to  be  in  bed,  but  since  you 
will  dissipate  on  the  catalogue,  I'll  keep  you  up  a  little 
longer."  I  led  her  back  to  a  chair  and  she  gazed  at  me 
wide-eyed. 

"Is  it  anything  about  —  the  —  children?"  she  whis- 
pered, somewhat  frightened. 

"  Yes  —  in  a  way  —  it  is  about  the  children.  But 
more  particularly  it  is  about  their  father.  Have  you 
ever  heard  of  him  ?  " 

"  Their  father !  —  I  thought  he  was  dead !  "  she  mur- 
mured, awe-struck. 

"  There  were  times  when  we  all  thought  so.  He  dis- 
appeared some  years  ago.  But  he's  alive,  Alicia.  I've 
just  heard  from  Dibdin,  who  found  him  in  Japan," 
Her  eyes  grew  wider. 

"  How  terrible !  "  she  breathed.  "  Does  he  know  all 
—  that  has  happened  ?  " 

"  He  does  now  —  of  course  he  didn't  until  Mr.  Dibdin 
told  him."  And  then  this  occurred  to  me.  Ought  I  to 
shield  Pendleton  to  the  extent  of  telling  her  positively 
that  he  had  lost  his  memory  or  identity?  No.  A  con- 
fidant deserves  scrupulous  honesty,  even  if  that  confidant 
be  as  young  as  Alicia.  "  He  told  Dibdin,"  I  went  on, 
"  that  he  lost  his  memory  of  the  past  and  found  himself 
one  day  stranded  in  Manila.  Led  rather  a  wild  and 
worthless  life  afterwards  —  people  who  lose  their  mem- 
ories seem  to  do  that." 

"  Do  you  think  that's  true  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  I  don't  know,  Alicia,  but  when  he  comes  back  I  sup- 
pose we'll  have  to  accept  that  version.  Dibdin  will  have 
some  advice  on  that  point,  I  feel  sure." 

Alicia  remained  silent   for  a  time  lost  in  reflection. 


144       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Her  child's  face  in  her  perturbation  was  the  face  of  a 
grown  woman. 

"  Do  you  think  he'll  want  to  take  back  the  children, 
Uncle  Ranny?" 

"  That's  the  crux  of  the  whole  matter,  Alicia.  I  don't 
know.  But  if  he  does,  he'll  have  a  right  to  do  so,  of 
course;  they  are  his." 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  and  her  hands  flew  up  to  her  face  in  a  ges- 
ture of  poignant  despair.  "  Turn  them  over  to  such  a 
man !  Is  that  the  way  the  world's  arranged  ?  " 

I  smiled  gloomily.  I  saw  that  there  was  no  need  of 
comment  upon  the  arrangement  of  the  world.  This  girl 
young  in  her  teens  understood  it  as  well  as  any  one. 

"  Then  I'd  have  to  go^too,"  she  uttered  hoarsely  with 
a  dry  sob  of  bitterness  in  her  throat. 

"  Not  necessarily,"  I  interposed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  should,"  she  insisted  doggedly,  as  though 
driving  something  painful  into  her  flesh,  "  But  it  doesn't 
matter  about  me.  But,  Uncle  Ranny,  you  won't  —  you 
can't  give  them  up!  They're  all  so  happy  here.  Little 
Jimmie  and  Laura  and  Randolph!  What  chance  would 
they  have  of  growing  up  fine  —  away  from  you  —  with 
a  man  like  that?  You  won't  let  them  go  —  you  won't, 
you  won't !  Oh,  it  would  be  horrible,  horrible ! "  she 
ended  passionately. 

"  Listen,  my  dear,"  I  tried  to  calm  her.  "  I  had  no 
wish  to  harrow  your  feelings.  I  told  you  because  you 
love  the  children  —  and  we  must  face  all  this  together. 
I  shall  want  your  help,  your  support."  She  flashed  a 
sweet  look  mingled  of  pride  and  gratitude. 

"  After  all  you  —  have  been  through,"  she  murmured 
incoherently.  "  But  why  don't  you  do  this,  Uncle 
Ranny !  "  and  with  the  quick  transition  possible  to  youth, 
she  was  again  alive,  eager,  excited,  this  little  fellow  con- 
spirator of  mine.  "  Why  don't  you  let  him  come  here 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       145 

and  live  right  in  this  house  for  a  while?  We'll  be  aw- 
fully crowded,"  she  ran  on  with  flushed  energy,  "  but 
we'll  find  room  for  him.  And  let's  be  awfully  nice  to 
him  —  and  believe  everything  he  says.  Then  we  could 
watch  him,  and  I  just  know  we'll  find  out  whether  he's 
all  right  or  not !  " 

I  laughed  at  her  enthusiasm. 

"  You  forget,  Alicia,"  I  informed  her,  "  that  even  if 
he  shouldn't  prove  all  right,  he  is  still  the  father  of  those 
children." 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  returned  stoutly.  "If  he's  bad 
and  sees  that  we  see  he's  bad,  he  wouldn't  have  the  face 
to  take  them  away  from  here.  Even  a  bad  father  wants 
his  children  to  be  all  right !  " 

"  And  how  in  the  world  do  you  know  that,  you  as- 
tounding infant  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know !  "  with  a  triumphant  laugh.  "  At  the 
Home  —  some  fathers  brought  their  children  and  cried 
—  one  of  them  did  —  because  he  was  so  bad  he  didn't 
think  he  was  fit  to  have  a  child  near  him.  I  had  tiptoed 
into  the  matron's  office,  and  I  heard  him !  " 

"  Perhaps  he  didn't  want  to  support  the  brat,"  I  scoffed 
to  cover  up  my  wonder. 

"  Well,  and  do  you  think  he  will  ?  "  Alicia  snatched  at 
my  words.  "  A  man  who  ran  away  from  them,  loafing 
round  for  years  ?  Oh,  it  will  be  easy,  Uncle  Ranny ! " 
she  chuckled.  "He  couldn't  fool  us!" 

"  And  why,  my  little  Portia,  couldn't  he  ?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Alicia  thoughtfully,  "  he  will  always 
be  thinking  of  himself  and  we  —  won't." 

"  You  mean,"  I  pressed,  delightedly,  "  he'll  be  self- 
conscious  and  give  himself  away,  the  while  we  are  clothed 
in  our  rectitude  ?  " 

"  Yes !  "  she  cried,  with  a  laugh.  "  We'll  be  thinking 
of  Jimmie  and  Laura  and  Randolph  —  and  it's  always 


146       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

easier  to  think  what  to  do  when  you're  thinking  of  some* 
body  else  —  not  of  yourself." 

"  And  did  you  discover  that  also  in  the  matron's  office 
at  the  Home  ?  "  I  leaned  toward  her  in  amazement. 

"  No,"  she  bent  her  gaze  downward,  "  I  learned  that 
right  here." 

I  kissed  Alicia  upon  the  cheek.  It  lies  heavy  at  my 
door  that  I  have  shown  her  too  little  affection  in  the  past 
merely  because  she  is  not  related  to  me.  It  startled  me 
to  realize  that  dear  to  me  as  Laura's  children  are,  Alicia 
is  the  dearest  of  them  all. 

As  with  a  gentle  good  night  she  slipped  away,  a  pro- 
found sigh  of  relief  escaped  me.  That  child  succeeded 
hi  almost  wholly  blotting  out  my  feeling  of  bitter  per- 
plexity after  talking  with  Gertrude.  Do  Alicias  upon 
growing  older  turn  into  Gertrudes,  I  wonder?  No,  I 
think  not.  Surely  not 

I  now  look  to  the  return  of  Pendleton  almost  with 
equanimity. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

I  AM  agitated  like  a  hen  with  a  newly  hatched  brood 

It  has  suddenly  been  revealed  to  me  that  the  com- 
placency with  which  I  have  been  regarding  my  care  and 
rearing  of  the  children  is  abysmally  false  and  wholly 
unjustified. 

They  are  not  properly  clothed  for  New  York  and  even 
here  in  Crestlands  they  seem  on  a  sudden  pitifully  shabby. 
The  competition  in  that  sort  of  thing  in  a  suburb  is  keen. 
Everybody's  children  seem  better  dressed  than  my  own 
and  yet,  do  what  I  will,  I  cannot  afford  to  spend  more. 
Randolph's  high-school  dignity  is  positively  impaired  by 
clothes  which  he  is  constantly  outgrowing.  And  the  rate 
at  which  Jimmie  wears  out  trousers  and  soils  white  suits 
is  simply  unbelievable.  Laura  alone  seems  to  have  the 
gift  of  always  keeping  her  things  fresh  and  wearing  them 
as  though  they  were  new. 

As  for  Alicia,  that  girl  ought  to  be  clothed  in  purple, 
at  least  figuratively,  if  only  I  could  afford  it.  It  seems 
to  me  I  cannot  live  another  day  unless  I  procure  for 
Alicia  a  large  collection  of  frocks  and  blouses  and  shoes 
and  whatever  else  would  set  off  that  faunlike  creature, 
compact  of  energy  and  grace.  For  almost  daily  that 
child  grows  more  beautiful  in  a  way  that  pulls  at  my 
heartstrings. 

I  trust  I  am  no  idiotic  parent,  or  foster  parent,  to  rave 
about  her  eyes  and  complexion  and  the  like.  I  am  as  dis- 
passionate as  any  one  can  well  be.  But  truly  there  is 
something  starlike  in  her  eyes  and  at  times,  when  she  is 
sewing  or  reading  or  working  on  my  eternal  catalogue, 


148       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

I  surprise  her  pensive,  absorbed  in  some  long  thoughts 
of  her  own  that  not  for  worlds  would  I  disturb.  At  such 
moments  I  am  absolutely  fascinated  by  those  soft  pools 
of  light  that  irradiate  her  face. 

Are  other  girls  like  that  at  her  age,  I  wonder?  It 
seems  scarcely  conceivable.  At  any  rate,  I  have  never 
seen  any  others  like  her.  But  then,  I  have  seen  so  few. 

The  truth  remains,  however,  that  I  positively  must 
dress  her  better.  Even  my  dull  fancy  joyously  leaps  at 
the  vision  of  Alicia  beautifully  dressed  and  diffusing 
sweetness  and  fragrance  through  the  house.  Of  course, 
I  cannot  single  her  out.  There  is  Laura,  too.  And  it 
might  seem  invidious,  although  as  the  eldest  of  them  all, 
Alicia  is  entitled  to  especial  consideration.  I  cannot 
moreover  allow  Pendleton  to  observe  that  I  have  kept 
his  children  shabby.  Few  are  the  claims  that  Pendleton 
can  legitimately  array  against  me,  but  the  shabbiness  of 
the  children  would  too  flagrantly  proclaim  my  failure. 
Nor  does  Dibdin  know  as  yet  my  rake's  progress  since 
Fred  Salmon  made  a  business  man  of  me. 

But  where  am  I  to  get  the  money  for  clothes  when  the 
mere  routine  of  subsistence  absorbs  it  all  ?  There  is  still 
Dibdin's  yellowing  cheque  intact,  but  I  cannot  use  that 
—  no. 

Ah  —  I  have  it !     I  shall  sell  "  Alastor ! " 

Since  I  had  overlooked  it,  I  shall  merely  assume  I 
n«ver  had  it.  In  its  Riviere  binding  "  Alastor  "  should 
bring  at  least  two  hundred  dollars  and  may  bring  more. 
Heaven  knows  it  cost  me  more.  It  holds  some  marginal 
memoranda  by  Leigh  Hunt,  which  should  not  detract 
from  its  value.  Since  Alicia  opines  that  my  life  is  more 
laudable  than  Alastor's  because  there  are  those  who  love 
me,  she  shall  profit  by  her  judgment.  "  Alastor  "  shall 
be  sacrificed  for  her  soft  and  lovely  frocks. 

Sooner  or  later  I  had  to  come  to  it.     What  is  a  volume 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       149 

more  or  less  compared  to  the  happiness  of  a  household  ? 
I  am  glad  I  have  decided  this.  So  farewell,  "  Alastor, 
Spirit  of  Solitude!" 

I  seem  to  be  possessed  by  the  mad  feverish  spirit  of 
carnival. 

Having  sold  my  "  Alastor  "  by  means  of  an  advertise^ 
ment  in  the  Sunday  Times  for  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  dollars,  I  experienced  a  sensation  of  richer  blood  in 
my  veins  by  that  accession  of  wealth.  "  Alastor  "  has 
clothed  all  my  family.  I  am  sorry  for  the  old  woman 
who  lived  in  a  shoe.  She  possessed  no  library.  The 
moral  is  obvious.  What  though  I  parted  with  a  little  bit 
of  myself  when  I  parted  with  that  book,  I  have  engrafted 
something  else  in  its  place.  For  the  children  also  are 
myself. 

I  do  not  delegate  Griselda  any  more  to  do  the  buying 
for  them. 

First  I  took  Jimmie  and  Randolph  to  a  men's  outfitting 
shop  where  the  atmosphere  is  august.  Alicia  offered  to 
come  along,  but  though  Jimmie  is  hotly  attached  to  her, 
he  was  vocal  with  objections. 

"  This  is  men's  business,"  he  cried,  "  and  us  men  must 
go  alone." 

"  We  men,"  corrected  Laura,  laughing  and  kissing 
him. 

"  Us  men  know  how  to  talk ! "  he  retorted,  violently 
rubbing  the  kiss  from  his  cheek.  Kisses,  he  implied, 
were  all  very  well  in  their  place,  but  not  at  important 
crises  in  masculine  lives,  not  when  the  toga  virilis  was 
hanging  grandly  from  their  shoulders. 

"  Come  on,  old  man,"  Randolph  interposed  with  a  wink 
in  my  direction,  and  Jimmie's  wrath  was  appeased.  The 
"  old  man  "  soothed  and  uplifted  him  to  the  proper  pitch 
of  virile  dignity. 


150      THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

The  seventy-five  dollars  laid  out  upon  those  two  boys 
have  given  me  more  satisfaction  than  anything  else  re- 
cently —  until  I  spent  the  balance  upon  the  girls.  Men's 
shops  are  prosaic  and  dull  compared  with  those  Greek 
temples  that  line  Fifth  Avenue  with  feminine  apparel. 
As  the  paymaster  for  the  boys  I  was  unnoticed.  As  the 
"  uncle "  of  the  two  girls  opening  the  door  to  heart's 
desire,  I  was  an  object  of  almost  affectionate  solicitude 
to  the  saleswoman.  They  were  alert  to  help  and  advise. 
What  a  freemasonry,  an  empire  within  an  empire,  is  the 
domain  of  women's  clothes!  In  the  latest  slang  and  in 
words  from  Shakespeare  the  jaded  saleswomen  were 
eager  to  interpret  my  wishes. 

"  I  want  some  frocks  and  things  for  these  girls,"  I 
announced  boldly  in  one  of  the  great  shops.  "  Not  too 
expensive  but  things  niqe  girls  o.ught  to  wear." 

"  I  know,"  nasally  asserted  an  efficient  blonde,  ceasing 
her  mastication  and  mysteriously  secreting  what  she 
was  chewing  somewhere  in  her  capacious  mouth. 
"  Somethin'  nice  and  classy  — •  and  quiet,  but  —  you 
know!" 

"  Er  —  precisely  —  " 

"  Neat  but  not  gaudy  ?  "  put  in  her  more  pallid,  more 
**  cultured  "  companion,  with  a  faded  smile  to  complete 
the  specification. 

"  Ah  —  exactly  so,"  I  murmured  and  Laura  seemed 
to  experience  a  difficulty  in  restraining  herself  from 

giggling- 

Alicia,  however,  with  the  simple  directness  that  is  hers, 
proceeded  quietly  to  mention  voiles  and  organdies  and 
soon  the  discussion  became  technical  and  I  helpless.  I 
thought  it  wise  to  whisper  to  Alicia  the  amount  of  money 
at  her  disposal.  She  gasped  her  astonishment  with  a 
blush  and  then  a  beautiful  light  of  gratitude  and  pleasure 
leaped  into  her  eyes  and  I  believe  the  child  was  going  to- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       151 

cry.  I  turned  away  quickly,  and  steadily  she  proceeded 
vrith  the  business  in  hand. 

To  the  lady  who  quoted  Polonius,  the  neat  but  not 
gaudy  one,  I  intrusted  the  selection  of  those  things  that 
I  was  not  to  see;  she  was  sincerely  gratified  at  my  con- 
fidence and,  I  believe,  conscientious. 

There  was  just  about  enough  change  left  for  refresh- 
ments at  Huyler's  for  the  girls  and  paterfamilias.  Gay 
were  the  spirits  in  which  we  three  traveled  homeward. 
How  ridiculous  Gertrude  would  make  me,  if  she  knew  it! 

I  felt  excitement  and  happiness  bounding  in  my  veins, 
a  new  quality  of  those  emotions,  the  like  of  which  I  had 
never  experienced  before.  And  my  heart  positively 
missed  a  beat  when  the  crushing  thought  struck  me: 
Must  I  now  lose  these  young  creatures  and  pass  again 
into  the  emptiness  of  life? 

We  Americans  are  like  the  French  in  that  we  think  our 
climate  the  best  in  the  world.  Or,  if  not  the  best,  at 
least  so  far  superior  to  many  others  that,  like  the  French, 
we  are  steeped  in  vanity  about  it. 

Of  Saturdays  I  reach  home  early  after  midday,  yet 
it  has  been  persistently  and  infallibly  raining  every  Satur- 
day afternoon  the  entire  blessed  spring.  If  perchance  I 
want  to  take  a  walk  and  breathe  some  air,  I  cannot  stir 
out  of  the  house. 

Yet  a  nervous  restlessness  possesses  me :  I  must  have 
some  diversion.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  me  to  ask  the 
girls  to  put  on  their  various  new  frocks  that  came  last 
evening.  For  a  moment  I  was  a  little  ashamed  at  the 
thought.  But  at  bottom,  I  suppose,  every  male  is  a  Per- 
sian Ahasuerus,  desirous  of  displaying  and  gloating  over 
the  beauty  of  his  women  folk.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that 
the  king  secretly  admired  Vashti  even  though  he  was 
wroth  at  her  disobedience. 

Laura,  it  appeared,  was  in  the  next  street  at  the  house 


152       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

of  a  school  friend,  but  Alicia  complied  eagerly,  display- 
ing anything  but  the  suffragette  indignation  of  Vashti. 
She  was,  in  fact,  eager  to  parade  her  frocks  with  quite 
feminine  excitement. 

In  her  clinging  voile,  in  soft-tinted  organdie,  in  white 
slippers  and  silk  stockings,  Alicia  appeared, —  a  vision 
surprising,  disturbingly  radiant  with  youthful  charm. 
There  was  something  with  a  blue  sash  that  made  her 
simply  exquisite,  the  very  incarnation  of  grace.  Her 
hair  gathered  tightly  at  the  nape  of  her  neck  and  then 
spreading  out  into  a  great  brush,  a  cloud  of  shimmering 
fine  gold  on  her  shoulders,  seemed  the  only  mark  of  child- 
hood left  that  prevented  me  from  being  like  another  St. 
Anthony,  miserably  afraid  of  her. 

I  know  not  what  devil  possessed  me  to  ask  her  to  go 
and  put  up  her  hair  before  she  took  off  that  frock.  How 
different  must  have  been  the  character  of  Persia's  queen. 
For  Alicia  ran  out  of  the  room  and  almost  in  a  twinkling 
she  was  back  with  her  hair  up. 

I  sat  for  a  moment  staring  at  her  speechless,  dry-lipped 
and  open-mouthed.  For  before  me,  flushed  and  spar- 
kling, stood  the  most  adorable  young  creature  T.  had  ever 
seen.  Why  should  there  be  so  much  mystery  in  feminine 
hair? 

'  You  —  you  —  child!"  I  blurted  out  finally  in  a  sort 
of  choleric  tenderness.  "  How  dare  you  look  so  beauti 
—  so  grown  up  in  my  house !  " 

A  peal  of  excited  laughter  was  her  answer  and  she 
made  as  if  she  would  rush  toward  me  with  open  arms, 
as  might  an  affectionate  child  eager  to  caress  an  indulgent 
parent  —  and  then  on  a  sudden  she  checked  herself,  a 
blush  suffusing  her  cheeks  and  her  very  ears. 

"  Go  call  Griselda,"  I  commanded,  to  cover  her  con- 
fusion, "  and  show  her  the  young  woman  we've  been 
harboring  in  the  guise  of  a  child." 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       153 

Alicia  ran  out  of  the  room  to  comply  and  for  a  mo- 
ment I  remained  sitting  in  my  chair  as  under  a  spell. 
Then  I  rose  hastily  to  dispel  such  nonsensical  emotions 
and  left  my  room,  only  to  come  face  to  face  with  Alicia 
and  Griselda  in  the  dining  room. 

"  Oh,  ay  —  yes !  "  muttered  my  aging  Griselda,  her 
swarthy  countenance  hot  from  the  kitchen  stove,  looking 
more  forbiddingly  sybilline  than  ever,  "It's  all  over!" 
she  added  mysteriously. 

"What  do  you  mean  —  all  over?"  I  demanded 
a  little  stupidly,  though  dimly  I  suppose  I  understood 
her. 

"  The  young  besoms  grow  up  sae  fast,  it's  a  meeracle 
they  dinna  wed  in  their  cradles !  " 

"  Wed ! "  I  cried  in  disgust  at  the  word.  "  You 
women  are  always  thinking  of  only  one  thing  —  even 
you,  Griselda.  Go,"  I  turned  to  Alicia,  "  let  down  your 
hair  again  this  minute,  so  you  won't  put  such  wild  no- 
tions into  Griselda's  frivolous  mind." 

Alicia  laughed  deliciously  and  even  Griselda  with  a 
sort  of  dark  twisted  smile  reiterated  : 

"  Oh,  ay  —  the  young  besoms !  "  Whereupon  my 
young  woman  impulsively  threw  her  arms  about  Gris- 
elda and  kissed  the  brown  cheek  with  gusto.  Griselda 
returned  by  pinching  Alicia's  cheek  fiercely. 

My  nephew  Randolph  and  a  companion,  a  tall  gawky 
boy  coming  into  the  house  at  that  moment,  stood  in  their 
raincoats  at  the  dining-room  door  and  gaped,  blocking 
Alicia's  path. 

"  I  say !  Look  who's  here! "  my  young  hopeful  ex- 
claimed with  a  low  whistle,  wagging  his  head  from  side 
to  side.  The  other  boy  merely  stared  in  dumb  awe, 
twisting  his  wet  cap  in  his  fingers.  That  gawk  and 
Alicia  are  the  same  age,  yet  —  the  difference ! 

"  Let  her  go  throsgh  and  unmask, "  I  waved  them  aside 


154       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

and  Alicia,  with  her  head  down,  ran  laughing  out  of  the 
room. 

I  returned  to  my  chair  and  sat  down  as  one  dazed. 
My  policy  henceforth  will  be  to  frown  on  suchlike  tricks 
—  though  I  myself  had  instigated  this  one.  What  an 
occupation  for  a  man  of  books  and  tranquillity  —  one 
who  desired  to  write  of  Brunetto  Latini  —  to  add  to  the 
body  of  scholarship  upon  Dante! 

And  suddenly  I  put  my  head  down  on  my  arms  and 
laughed  long  and  I  am  sure  quite  meaninglessly. 

For  if  I  were  a  woman,  I  might  just  as  easily  have 
sobbed  in  a  way  to  tear  out  the  heart.  Decidedly  the 
suspense  of  awaiting  news  from  Dibdin  regarding  Pen- 
dleton  must  be  undermining  my  nerves. 

I  am  gey  ill  to  live  with. 

I  seem  to  myself  like  the  irascible  old  gentlemen  in  the 
comedies  with  the  prithees  and  monstrous  fine  epigrams, 
forever  taking  snuff  —  save  that  there  is  no  comedy  about 
me. 

I  take  down  books  and  I  cannot  read  them.  What 
pleasure  I  used  to  experience  in  leaving  some  of  the 
leaves  uncut  in  fine  editions  so  as  to  cut  them  on  further 
readings!  I  have  tried  to  extract  that  joy  by  cutting 
some  recently,  but  there  is  no  joy  in  it. 

Why  am  I  so  certain  that  Pendleton  will  take  away  all 
these  that  I  love  and  leave  me  desolate?  All  his  past 
seems  to  argue  against  the  probability.  Yet  constantly 
I  see  before  me  the  picture  of  their  going  in  a  body  with 
that  man  while  I  stand  speechless,  attempting  to  smile 
benignantly.  How  we  dramatize  ourselves,  even  the 
least  imaginative  amongst  us!  And  all  the  time  I  feel 
as  though  great  gouts  of  blood  were  dripping,  dripping 
from  my  heart  in  nameless  anguish. 

Alicia,  that  divine  child,  is  watching  me  unobtrusively 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       155 

though  closely,  whenever  she  can.  She  surrounds  me 
with  comforts  and  attentions.  But  like  some  sick  owl, 
I  prefer  to  brood  alone. 

The  somewhat  isolated  position  of  my  chalet  on  the 
rock  and  the  lack  of  a  wife  in  the  household  has  saved 
me  from  making  intimate  acquaintances  among  my  Crest- 
lands  neighbors.  But  there  is  one  young  man,  Judkins, 
an  architect  in  the  stucco  house  opposite,  who  strides  over 
to  my  porch  and  insists  upon  talking  of  his  performances 
at  golf. 

"  Ought  to  join  the  Club,"  he  keeps  reiterating. 
"  Nothing  like  eighteen  holes  to  take  the  kinks  outa  your 
brain  after  the  hullabaloo  in  the  city." 

"  Er  —  do  I  seem  to  have  many  kinks?"  I  ask, 
whereat  he  laughs  in  his  harsh  voice. 

"  All  got  'em !  "  he  cries.  "  Can't  get  away  from  'em. 
Books!"  he  adds  explosively,  "books  are  no  good! 
They  give  you  the  willies !  " 

And  that  man  claims  to  have  studied  at  the  Beaux 
Arts!  Edmond  de  Goncourt,  that  neurasthenic  philoso- 
pher, prayed  that  he  might  make  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  from  his  play  "  Germinie  Lacerteux,"  so  that  he 
might  buy  the  house  opposite  and  put  this  notice  on  it: 
"  To  be  let  to  people  who  have  no  children,  who  do  not 
play  any  musical  instrument,  and  who  will  be  permitted 
to  keep  only  goldfish  as  pets."  As  for  me,  I  should 
waive  the  children,  the  pets  and  the  musical  instruments ; 
I  would  merely  say,  "  No  proselyting  golfers  need  apply." 

Alicia,  to  mitigate  my  mood,  I  suppose,  devised  a  pic- 
nic in  the  woods.  No  one  was  to  come  save  the  children 
and  I  and  that  gawky  companion  of  Randolph's,  the  boy 
John  Purington,  lest  Randolph  should  be  bored.  Ran- 
dolph, it  appears,  is  easily  bored.  The  consciousness  of 
my  recent  hypochondriac  behavior  led  me  to  accept  the 
suggestion  with  alacrity. 


f53       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

The  luncheon  Griselda  prepared  was  packed  in  paper 
boxes  by  Alicia  and  together,  en  masse,  our  little  pro- 
cession set  forth  and  made  its  way  to  a  grove  less 
than  two  miles  distant  bordering  on  the  great  Croton 
aqueduct. 

Randolph  and  the  gawky  boy  fell  at  once  to  tossing  a 
baseball,  Jimmie  rolled  delightedly  about  the  lush  grass, 
still  grappling  with  his  insoluble  problem  of  rolling  up  a 
slope  and  still  perplexed  as  to  why  it  should  be  easier  to 
roll  down.  Laura  ran  to  his  aid  and  Alicia  sat  beside  me 
and  laughed. 

"That  is  the  whole  problem  of  life  that  Jimmie  is 
facing,"  I  observed  gloomily. 

"  No,  it  isn't,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  put  her  hand  on  my 
arm  as  she  contradicted.  "  That  is  only  the  law  of  gravi- 
tation. There  is  a  lot  more  to  life  than  that ! '" 

"  Yes,  Alicia,"  I  lowered  my  voice,  "  but  when  that 
man  comes,  how  it  will  hurt  to  think  of  little  Jimmie,  of 
all  those  children  of  my  sister's  in*  the  care  of  that  man 
who's  really  her  —  her  murderer!  " 

"  Please,  please,  don't  think  of  that !  "  she  begged,  with 
imploring  eyes.  "  That  hasn't  happened  yet.  And  we'll 
—  we'll  manage  it  somehow.  Maybe  he's  a  good  man, 
after  all  —  and,  oh;  we'll  watch  him  —  we'll  watch  him ! 
Besides,  he  mayn't  come.  If  he  is  what  you  think,  then 
I  am  sure  he  won't  come !  " 

That  proved  a  very  cheering  thought. 

Before  I  knew  it,  I  was  myself  tossing  a  ball  with 
Alicia  and  romping  with  the  rest  of  them. 

It  was  only  after  the  lunch  had  been  eaten  under  the 
trees  and  the  egg  shells  and  papers  were  gathered  and 
stowed  away,  and  the  gawky  boy  proceeded  clumsily  to 
monopolize  Alicia,  who  has  not  the  heart  to  snub  any- 
body, that  my  depression  returned. 

Whereupon  Alicia  gayly  proposed  that  it  was  time  to 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       157 

think  of  going  home,  because  Jimmie  was  drowsy  and 
must  not  forego  his  nap. 

Was  it  adroitness  or  spontaneity?  I  cannot  tell,  but  it 
is  marvelous  how  that  girl  anticipates  and  understands. 

It  was  a  happy,  tired,  air-steeped  company  that  re- 
turned home. 

A  telegram  has  just  arrived.  Dibdin  and  Pendleton 
have  landed  in  San  Francisco !  . 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PENDLETON  is  here.     He  has  been  here  a  week. 

Like  one  in  the  dazed  excitement  of  some  dream,  the 
sort  of  farrago  that  leaves  you  limp  and  weakly  smiling 
when  you  wake  up  and  see  the  sun,  I  have  been  going 
about  wkh  numb  limbs  strangely  galvanized,  not  so  much 
into  activity  as  the  expectation  of  activity. 

What  is  it  I  have  been  expecting  to  happen?  I 
hardly  know.  But  perhaps  I  have  been  expecting  melo- 
drama. And  I  am  overcome  by  the  obvious  truism  that 
genuine  melodrama  is  anything  but  melodramatic.  That 
is  why  melodrama  on  the  stage,  with  its  ranting  and 
strutting  and  flourishes,  disgusts  one  by  its  bathos. 

The  presence  of  Pendleton  in  my  house,  occupying  my 
bedroom  while  I  have  withdrawn  into  my  little  study,  is 
the  essence  of  melodrama. 

Yet  every  one  and  everything  is  in  a  tacit  conspiracy 
to  make  it  seem  natural.  There  is  a  tension  in  the  atmos- 
phere, without  doubt,  but  we  are  all  of  us  madly,  ener- 
getically ignoring  it,  hiding  it. 

The  man's  conduct  has  been  astounding,  unimpeach- 
able, unexceptionable. 

He  out-Enochs  Enoch  Arden.  Yet  —  why  should  I 
disguise  the  fact  to  myself  —  I  hate  him.  That,  too,  I 
suppose,  is  melodrama.  But  do  what  I  will,  he  remains 
detestable  to  me.  I  cannot  trust  him.  I  try,  however, 
not  to  show  it.  Dibdin  has  acquired  a  deep  furrow  be- 
tween the  eyes,  due  doubtless  to  his  sense  of  responsibility 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       159 

in  having  resuscitated  Pendleton.  He  carries  the  air  of 
some  magician  or  sorcerer  who  has  evoked  a  demon  and 
is  overwhelmed  with  terror  by  the  problem  of  what  to 
do  with  him. 

But  I  must  in  decency  acknowledge  that  Pendleton's 
behavior  has  been  without  blemish. 

Dibdin  had  sent  me  a  long  night  letter  from  San 
Francisco  saying  he  would  remain  there  a  few  days,  "  to 
give  the  fellow  chance  to  bolt  if  he  wants  to."  There 
had  been  other  telegrams.  I  was  not  to  meet  them  at 
the  train  but  to  give  explicit  directions.  It  was  as  well. 
I  could  not  have  met  Pendleton  at  the  train  even  if  he 
were  coming  from  the  dead.  A  week  ago,  when  Dibdin 
telephoned  from  the  city,  I  went  so  far  as  to  order  a 
cab  to  meet  them. 

There  again  the  histrionics  of  the  situation  were  at  a 
hopeless  disadvantage.  For  what  I  remember  most 
vividly  of  that  Saturday  evening  was  the  sickness  of  my 
soul  as  I  sat  awaiting  their  arrival.  Again  and  again  I 
had  steeled  myself  to  tell  the  children  of  their  father's 
coming.  I  framed  words  and  sentences  in  my  mind  un- 
til the  cold  perspiration  moistened  my  forehead,  but  I 
could  not  face  the  ordeal.  I  had  thought  I  knew  myself 
—  that  I  was  steeled  to  the  tests  of  life.  But  I  saw  I  was 
still  a  reed.  It  came  to  within  a  couple  of  hours  before 
their  arrival  and  still  I  had  not  told  them.  I  found  my- 
self on  my  two-inch  terrace  and  a  stream  of  profanity 
was  breaking  from  my  lips.  On  a  sudden  I  saw  Jimmie 
standing  beside  me.  Shame  and  chagrin  overtook  me 
and  I  bent  down  to  him  and  begged  him  to  forgive  me, 

"  Don't  you  mind  me,  Uncle  Ranny,"  he  put  his  hand 
in  mine.  "  I'm  a  man,  and  I  know  a  man  has  got  to 
swear  sometimes." 

"  No,  Jimmie  —  not  if  the  man  has  brains  enough  with 
which  to  think." 


160       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

That  contact  with  the  child,  however,  seemed  to  re- 
lease something  in  my  clamped  and  aching  skull. 

"  Run,  Jimmie,"  I  said,  "  and  send  Alicia  out  to  me. 
I  wish  to  speak  to  her." 

Jimmie,  to  whom  commissions  are  delight,  was  off  like 
an  arrow. 

Some  moments  elapsed  before  Alicia  could  come  to  me 
and  during  that  time  I  had  a  mad  impulse  to  fly  from  it 
all,  to  seize  my  hat  and  steal  away,  to  take  a  train  to  the 
city  and  not  to  return-  until  it  was  all  over.  But  I  waited 
nevertheless  and  Alicia,  who  had  been  helping  Griselda, 
came  running  out  flushed,  with  concern  in  her  eyes. 

"  Alicia,"  I  began  miserably,  "  I  have  tried  to  screw  up 
my  courage  to  tell  the  children  about  the  coming  of  —  of 
their  father.  But  I  simply  can't  do  it,  Alicia;  it's  —  it's 
beyond  me.  I  —  I  want  you  to  tell  them,"  I  faltered 
like  a  guilty  schoolboy.  The  girl  winced  perceptibly 
but  — 

"All  right,"  she  answered;  "do  you  mean  now?" 

"  About  half -past  six  —  the  train  gets  here  at  six 
thirty-five.  You  take  them  into  the  garden  —  and  keep 
them  there  until  after  the  men  come,  and  —  I  call  you." 

"  Yes  —  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  whispered  —  "  but,  oh, 
please  don't  worry  about  it  so  much !  " 

"  No,  my  dear,"  I  murmured  and  at  that  moment  I 
felt  closer  to  her  than  to  any  other  living  being.  To  take 
the  children  out  of  the  house  upon  the  coming  of  their 
father  —  it  sounded  like  a  funeral.  And  it  was  at  that 
moment  —  my  funeral.  And  the  rest  of  the  afternoon 
was  a  blur  and  the  encompassing  world  was  a  shadow. 
It  was  broken;  no,  it  was  too  insubstantial  for  breaking. 
It  kept  thinning  and  receding  away  from  me  and  I  was 
left  a  dully  throbbing  entity  in  the  primal  chaos  before 
Creation. 

I  was  startled  at  last  by  hearing  the  wheezy  groan  of 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       161 

an  aged  taxi  outside  and  like  the  galvanized  corpse  I  was, 
I  felt  my  members  heavily  stirring  and  propelling  me  to 
the  door. 

On  the  path  in  the  curiously  sickly  light  of  a  premature 
dusk  under  a  clouded,  lifeless  sky  I  saw  Dibdin  and 
Pendleton,  slightly  stooping  forward  to  the  slope,  walk- 
ing toward  me.  That  moment  of  poignant  joy  at  seeing 
Dibdin,  of  exquisite  pain  on  beholding  Pendleton  —  I 
shall  never  forget  it ! 

"  Dibdin !  "  I  cried,  rushing  at  his  hand  and  clinging 
to  it  to  defer  as  long  as  possible  touching  the  other's. 
Then,  after  ages  it  seemed,  my  eyes  slowly  turned  to  the 
tall  figure  of  Pendleton  and  rested  on  the  fleshy  face, 
somewhat  loose  and  pendulous,  smooth-shaven  and  pur- 
plish, with  eyes  that  fell  before  my  own.  Finally  I  dis- 
engaged my  hand  and  held  it  out  to  him.  I  could  not 
do  otherwise. 

"  Jim,"  I  murmured  and  my  voice  had  labored  over  a 
universe  of  barriers  to  achieve  that.  But  I  could  utter 
no  more. 

He  peered  at  me  from  his  protruding  eyes  as  though 
he  also  were  struggling,  struggling  with  memory  and 
with  memories,  with  a  teeming  past,  with  all  that  he  had 
been  and  committed,  and  for  an  instant  I  felt  sorry  for 
him. 

"  Come  in,"  I  breathed  deeply,  and  we  made  our  way 
into  the  house  and  into  my  study. 

"  Randolph,"  Pendleton  finally  uttered  with  a  pro- 
found sigh,  and  then  I  recalled  that  he  was  playing  a 
part.  To  me  the  appalling  reality  of  the  whole  episode 
had  been  so  excruciating  that  momentarily  I  forgot  that 
he  was  in  all  likelihood  playing  a  part.  But  was  he? 
How  could  he  ?  In  the  face  of  these  children,  in  the  face 
of  all  he  is  guilty  of,  how  could  he  play  a  part,  when  the 
truth  would  raise  him  almost  to  a  kind  of  manhood  ?  I 


162       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOU 

cannot  give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  and  yet  I  cannot 
wholly  doubt  him.  Some  idiotic  simplicity  or  imbecility 
inside  me  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  envisage  any 
creature  in  human  form  as  so  consummate  a  villain. 
Perhaps  —  perhaps  there  is  something  — 

"  Randolph,"  he  murmured  in  a  deep  guttural  —  "I 
know  you  —  I  remember  you  —  yes,  you  are  —  you 
are  — "  and  he  paused.  We  hung  for  a  moment  like 
things  dangling  by  threads,  like  marionettes  motionless. 
Then,  with  a  prickling  sensation  of  sweat  over  all  my 
body,  I  broke  the  spell  by  fumbling  with  a  box  of  ciga- 
rettes and  with  a  hand  spasmodically  quivering  like  the 
needle  of  a  seismograph,  I  held  them  out. 

"  Have  a  good  voyage  ?  "  I  heard  myself  saying,  as 
we  all  smoked  and  covertly  stole  glances  at  one  another. 
I  was  not  flying  at  his  throat.  Dibdin  puffed  heavily 
with  the  crease  deepening  between  his  eyes  and  Pendle- 
ton's  gaze  roved  questing  and  unsteady  about  the  room. 
Melodrama !  There  never  was  any  except  on  the  stage ! 
In  life  there  is  only  drama  —  and  pain. 

"  How  are  the  kids  ?  "  Dibdin  asked  abruptly. 

"  Fine! "  I  exclaimed  automatically,  in  an  unnatural 
voice,  like  a  pistol  shot.  "  They  are  out  in  the  garden 
there,"  and  Dibdin  nodded.  I  felt  certain  that  his  mind 
also  was  seeing  the  analogy  to  a  funeral.  And  now  my 
brain  seemed  to  be  shaking  off  its  dull  lethargy.  From 
somewhere  in  Maeterlinck  the  haunting  memory  of  a 
phrase  came  glimmering  through  my  consciousness,  like 
a  dim  light  through-  a  fog,  to  the  effect  that  if  Socrates 
and  Christ  had  been  in  the  palace  of  Agamemnon,  the 
tragedies  of  the  house  of  Atreus  could  not  have  happened. 
I  longed  for  a  little  wisdom  to  deal  with  the  situation. 

"  Would  you  like,"  I  turned  to  Pendleton,  "  to  see  the 
children?" 

"  The  children,"  he  repeated  dazedly.     "  Yes  —  yes  — 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       163 

I'd  like  to  see  them.  But  —  just  a  moment.  The  chil- 
dren," he  repeated  piteously,  "  but  no  Laura!  " 

Sharp,  sharp  was  the  stab  at  my  heart  when  he  spoke 
her  name.  But  either  he  is  a  supreme  master  in  deceit  or 
I  am  the  dullest  of  simpletons.  For  the  struggle  through 
clouds  of  memory  that  his  features  expressed  seemed  real 
to  me. 

"  I  told  you  she  was  dead !  "  snapped  Dibdin  gruffly, 
without  turning  to  him. 

"  You  told  me  ?  Ah,  yes."  And  he  sighed  heavily. 
"Of  course  you  told  me."  And  his  chin  sank  weightily 
to  his  breast.  We  remained  thus  silent  for  a  space. 
Then  — 

"  Come,"  I  said,  standing  up.  "  I'll  take  you  to  the 
children." 

He  rose  ponderously,  his  great  frame  limp  and  leaden, 
and  followed  me  somberly.  He  seemed  sincere  enough 
in  his  grief,  I  must  own  that.  Dibdin  did  not  move. 

I  led  him  into  the  garden  toward  the  spot  where  the 
children  were  huddled  about  Alicia.  She  was  talking 
to  them  in  low  tones  and  they  were  listening  in  dead 
silence.  Never  again,  I  hope,  shall  I  experience  that 
sense  of  going  to  my  o.wn  execution  that  I  experienced  at 
that  instant.  Execution  —  no !  I  could  have  walked  to 
a  gibbet  or  a  guillotine  smiling,  I  am  quite  sure.  What 
is  my  life  to  me?  I  was  walking  rather  to  the  execution 
of  those  four  young  souls  under  the  gnarled  old  apple 
tree. 

Alicia,  too!  By  Heaven!  Like  a  lightning  stroke 
that  fact  crashed  into  my  soul.  He  would  take  Alicia 
also.  No  —  no!  He  had  no  claim  upon  her,  thank 
God! 

"  Not  Alicia !  "  my  voice  broke  out  from  the  turmoil 
of  my  thoughts  like  the  voice  in  a  dream  breaking  the 
barriers  of  sleep. 


164       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Eh  ?  "  said  Pendleton  faintly. 

"Did  you  call,  Uncle  Ranny?"  Alicia  turned  and 
asked  in  a  clear,  steady  voice. 

"  Yes,  Alicia,"  I  struggled  for  control.  "  Here  is  Mr. 
Pendleton  —  come  to  see  the  children."  I  meant  to  say 
"  his  children,"  but  I  could  not. 

The  whole  sickly-colored  evening1  seemed  to  shudder  at 
my  words.  The  children  seemed  like  wraiths  under  the 
tree  to  shudder  away  from  the  intruding  material  world. 

In  a  moment  —  what  a  tragic  moment  —  Pendleton 
was  bending  toward  them,  peering,  peering  into  their 
white,  frightened  faces.  Then  his  gaze  settled  on  Alicia 
and  hung  there  for  a  space. 

"  This  must  be  Randolph,"  he  finally  turned  to  the  eld- 
est boy,  "  grown  —  grown  up  —  isn't  it  ?  "  and  his  arms 
stirred  fonvard. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  boy  answered  hoarsely  and  put  out  his 
hand. 

"  And  this  —  can  this  be  baby  Laura  ?  "  Laura  hung 
her  head  then  raised  it  bravely  and  with  shy  resolution 
held  out  her  hand.  Pendleton  took  it  and  kissed  her 
clumsily  on  the  cheek. 

Jimmie,  hanging  back,  clung  to  Alicia's  skirt  and 
watched  the  proceedings  with  troubled  stealth  from  be- 
hind her. 

"  And  this  is  Jimmie,"  I  said,  taking  the  child  by  the 
shoulder  —  ".the  youngest  of  them." 

As  Pendleton  was  stooping  toward  him,  Jimmie 
uttered  a  wild  scream  of  heartbreaking  terror,  wrenched 
himself  from  my  hold  and  fled  like  some  little  wounded 
animal  toward  the  house.  Pendleton  gave  a  short,  mirth- 
less laugh. 

My  throat  was  parched,  my  heart  Was  thumping  like 
a  rabbit's,  but  how  I  loved  Jimmie  at  that  moment ! 

"  He  is  only  a  baby,"  put  in  Alicia  softly. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       165 

Again  Pendleton  looked  at  her  —  obliquely. 

"  And  this  is  —  "  he  murmured. 

"  Alicia  Palmer/'  I  supplied  hastily,  "  who  has  been 
looking  after  them." 

"  Ah,  Alicia  —  a  little  deputy  mother  —  "  and  he  held 
out  his  hand  with  shamefaced  suavity. 

The  scene  was  over  —  the  incredible  episode  —  com- 
monplace enough  as  I  write  it  down.  But  I  lived  a 
dozen  melodramas  in  that  eternity  that  a  clock  would 
tick  off  in  three  or  four  minutes  of  time. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WALKING  about  as  I  do  under  sentence,  I  am  like  a 
man  of  my  acquaintance,  a  stodgy,  a  terrible  Philistine, 
who  cherished  for  years  a  fancy  that  he  could  write 
Gilbert  and  Sullivan  operas.  In  all  his  life  he  had  prob- 
ably never  rhymed  anything  more  subtle  than  love,  above 
and  dove.  Since  any  fool,  in  his  opinion,  could  supply 
the  music,  he  aspired  only  to  the  Gilbertian  librettos. 
Incessantly  and  hopelessly  out  of  key  he  went  about  hum- 
ming the  Sullivan  tunes  to  the  lyrics  he  alleged  to  have 
in  his  mind. 

Similarly,  I  go  about  with  a  sense  of  mendacious  buoy- 
ancy,—  like  a  shipwrecked  passenger  bobbing  helplessly 
in  a  troubled  sea,  but  still  alive;  a  flickering  glimmer  of 
hope,  like  a  desperate  man  facing  a  tiger,  but  still  unde- 
voured. 

Brazenly  I  still  expect  happiness  to  emerge,  somehow, 
out  of  hopelessness. 

It  is  easy,  of  course,  to  lapse  into  moods  of  despond- 
ency, into  wishing  I  were  dead,  since  I  cannot  live  in 
happiness, 

And  shake  the  yoke  of  inauspicious  stars 
From  this  world-wearied  flesh. 

But  such  moments  pass.  There  is  a  sort  of  tonic  in 
the  rough  of  life  when  the  smooth  is  absent,  and  the  wits, 
my  poor  dull  wits,  brace  themselves  for  the  shock  of 
action.  I  feel  certain  now  that  in  all  my  years  of  tran- 
quillity it  is  the  salt  of  suffering  that  was  lacking.  Yet 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       167 

who  would  seek  suffering  for  its  own  sake?  I  know, 
however,  that  I  feel  younger  and  more  energetic  to-day 
than  ever  I  felt  five  years  ago. 

Even  Pendleton  has  his  uses.  He  is  the  thorn  in  the 
side,  the  fox  gnawing  at  my  vitals  under  the  cloak,  but 
here  he  is  in  my  house  as  its  guest. 

He  goes  with  me  to  the  city  of  a  morning  on  his  quest 
for  work,  "  a  connection  "  as  he  calls  it,  and  often  I  find 
him  at  home  before  me  when  I  arrive,  in  my  room,  smok- 
ing, or  out  in  the  garden  with  the  children.  I  wince 
inwardly,  but  I  hope  I  do  not  show  it. 

I  spoke  of  hating  him,  but  that  is  untrue.  You  can- 
not persistently  hate  any  man,  notably  a  guest  in  your 
house.  You  can  only  suspect  him.  Yet,  when  I  see  the 
children  still  shy  of  him,  why  does  it  give  me  a  throbbing 
sense  of  triumph?  I  do  not  know,  but  so  it  is.  Ran- 
dolph alone  seems  to  approach  him  nearer  as  the  days 
go  by.  They  go  on  walks  together  and  Randolph  con- 
fides to  Alicia  that  he  is  fascinated  by  the  tales  of  his 
father's  experiences  in  the  tropics,  of  ships  and  islands 
and  pearl-fishing  and  native  customs.  I  fancy  Pendleton 
must  be  selectively  on  the  alert  in  his  narratives  with  his 
young  son  as  the  listener.  His  past  must  contain  many 
things  that  none  of  us  in  this  quiet  haven  will  ever  hear 
recounted. 

But  I  am  indifferent  to  his  past.  I  could  listen  and 
even  tolerate  him  as  my  guest,  if  only  the  children  were 
not  passing  to  his  care.  He  talks  of  "  relieving  "  me  of 
the  burden. 

"  Don't  hurry,  old  man,"  I  answer  casually,  "  they  are 
no  burden  to  me." 

He  gazes  at  me  and  lowers  his  eyes. 

"  I  tell  you,  Randolph,  you're  a  revelation  to  me.  I 
never  knew  a  man  like  you  before.  They  don't  make 
them  like  that  these  days." 


168       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Praise  from  Sir  Hubert,"  occurs  to  me,  but  I  don't 
say  it.  I  am  in  reality  at  his  mercy,  I  suppose,  but  I 
often  feel  as  though  he  were  at  mine.  The  glossing  over 
of  his  atrocious  conduct,  the  taking  him  at  his  word  on 
the  subject  of  his  lapsed  memory,  which  we  either  slur 
or  don't  refer  to  at  all,  seem  to  give  me  a  tremendous 
advantage  over  him, — the  commonplace  advantage  of 
simple  honesty  over  mendacity.  Not  for  a  moment  do 
I  now  believe  in  his  lapsed  memory  story.  I  cannot 
deny,  however,  that  his  air  is  one  of  repentance  and,  as 
Dibdin  has  said,  who  in  this  world  is  so  hard  but  he 
wouldn't  give  a  fellow  man  a  second  chance  ? 

Jim  Pendleton,  now  that  he  has  been  to  a  New  York 
tailor's,  appears  as  impressive  and  debonair  as  ever.  He 
must  be  in  the  middle  forties  and  he  is  not  ill-looking. 
It  is  chiefly  his  eyes  that  seem  changed  to  me.  Do  what 
I  will,  I  cannot  look  at  them.  There  is  a  certain  dis- 
turbing obliqueness  about  his  gaze  that  makes  me  turn 
mine  away  in  a  sort  of  vicarious  shame. 

But,  again,  C'est  un  mauvais  metier  que  celid  de  medire. 
And  conscious  of  that  truth,  I  mean  to  speak  or  think 
no  more  ill  of  Jim  Pendleton.  After  all,  his  large  con- 
tact with  the  world  has  given  him  something  that  I 
lack. 

Last  evening  at  dinner  he  was  regaling  us  with  an 
experience  of  his  of  spearing  fish  in  the  Marquesas. 

"  I  was  in  the  back  of  the  boat,"  he  was  saying,  "  with 
a  torch  in  my  hand,  and  my  islander,  who  was  an  ex- 
pert at  it,  held  his  spear  ready  for  the  first  fish  that 
leaped.  Several  of  them  leaped  and  fell  again  into  the 
water  round  us  churning  it  up,  so  that  we  were  wet  with 
spray.  Suddenly  I  saw  a  huge  mass  glistening  in  the 
torchlight,  falling,  it  seemed,  right  on  top  of  us. 

'  The  native  buried  his  spear  upward  in  the  thing  as  it 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       ^69 

fell.  I  tell  you  that  man  was  quick !  But  it  was  too  late. 
The  huge  fish  flopped  into  the  boat  with  its-  great  head 
on  my  knees  and  the  full  weight  of  his  body  on  the  man, 
sending  him  overboard  and  splintering  the  side  of  the 
boat.  In  just  about  a  second  we  were  in  total  darkness, 
floundering  in  the  water,  with  an  overturned  boat.  I 
was  badly  bruised  and  the  native  had  both  legs  broken. 

"  In  spite  of  his  broken  legs,  however,  he  offered  to 
swim  ashore,  to  the  nearest  projecting  rock.  But  I  was 
sure  he  couldn't  make  it  and  very  certain  I  couldn't.  It 
was  a  job,  I  can  tell  you,  righting  that  boat,  helping  that 
man  into  it  and  scrambling  in  myself;  and  then  with  a 
piece  of  splintered  oar  rowing  ourselves  in.  The  fel- 
low with  his  broken  legs  worked  just  as  hard  as  I  did 
and  never  uttered  so  much  as  a  groan.  It  did  me  up  for 
some  time.  But  that  fellow  was  spearing  fish  again  in 
ten  days  or  so." 

Jimmie,  who  is  sometimes  allowed  to  take  his  supper 
with  us,  sat  gazing  at  his  father,  fascinated  by  the  nar- 
rative until  the  last  word.  Then  seemingly  jealous  that 
any  one,  even  this  strange  father,  should  exceed  me  in 
prowess,  his  little  face  clouded  and  he  demanded : 

"  Uncle  Ranny,  didn't  you  ever  spear  a  big  fish?  " 

"  No,  Jimmie,"  I  laughed,.  "  but  maybe  you  and  I  will 
go  there  one  day  and  spear  some  together." 

"  Well,  anyway,"  he  retorted  stoutly,  "  you  took  us 
on  a  picnic." 

Whereat  we  all  laughed,  albeit  my  own  laugh  was 
rueful.  The  thought  flashed  through  my  mind  that  Pen- 
dleton  was  certain  to  win  them  to  himself  the  moment 
he  decided  to  do  so.  The  very  memory  of  me  would 
become  ridiculous  to  them. 

"  Uncle  Ranny,"  spoke  up  Laura,  "  has  been  too  busy 
feeding  us  and  buying  us  clothes  to  go  traveling." 

Alicia  smiled  radiantly  at  Laura  across  the  table,  and 


170       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Griselda,  who  had  just  come  in  with  the  dessert,  nodded 
her  head  with  somber  emphasis  as  she  placed  the  bowl 
before  me. 

I  could  have  hugged  them  all  three  in  gratitude,  but 
nevertheless  I  pressed  Pendleton  to  narrate  more  of  his 
experiences. 

"  No,"  he  shook  his  head,  evidently  taking  the  chil- 
dren's comment  to  heart.  "  That's  yarn  enough  for  one 
evening." 

That  seemed  to  me  very  decent  of  Pendleton. 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  Dibdin  to-day.  I  called 
him  up  on  the  telephone  and  demanded  what  he  meant 
by  coming  from  devil  knows  where  after  more  than  two 
years'  absence  and  virtually  cutting  me. 

"  Come  to  lunch  at  the  Salmagundi  Club,"  he  growled. 

"  Does  it  pain  you  as  much  as  that  to  ask  me?  " 

"  Don't  be  a  damn  fool,"  he  retorted. 

"  Don't  be  so  wickedly  witty,"  I  replied. 

"  At  twelve-thirty,"  he  muttered  and  hung  up  the 
receiver.  From  which  I  gathered  that  he  was  out  of 
sorts. 

In  the  hall  of  the  Club  where  he  was  waiting,  I  greeted 
him  with, 

" '  Is  it  weakness  of  intellect,  birdie/  I  cried, 
'  Or  a  rather  tough  worm  in  your  little  inside?' " 

He  stared  at  me. 

"  How  you  can  be  so  light  and  idiotic  in  the  face  of 

circumstances,"  he  began,  "  passes  my  comprehension." 
"  Circumstances,  my  dear  fellow,  are  all  there  is  to 

life." 

"  Want  to  wash  your  paws  ?  " 

"  No  —  I  am  as  clean  as  I  shall  ever  be." 

I  put  my  arm  through  his  and  allowed  him  to  lead 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       171 

He  to  a  quiet  table  in  the  rear  of  the  billiard  room,  softly 
illumined  by  a  shaded  lamp  at  midday. 

"  What  a  delightful  place !  "  I  exclaimed.  **  Resi- 
dence of  Q.  T.  tranquillity." 

"  Tranquillity  be  blowed,"  he  grunted,  as  he  sat  down 
facing  me.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  that  Old 
Man  of  the  Sea  of  yours  ?  " 

"  You  mean  Pendleton  ?  " 

"  Whom  the  devil  else  can  I  mean  ?  " 

"  Wh.v.  nothing  of  course,  but  give  him  a  leg  up  if 
we  can.  What  else  is  there  to  do?  I  just  received  a 
letter  this  morning  from  an  insurance  company  asking 
for  confidential  information  about  him.  He's  given  me 
as  a  reference  and  they're  evidently  considering  him." 

"  The  Danbury  and  Phoenix  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.     How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  got  one,  too." 

"  I  suppose  we  are  reany  nis  only  two  possible  spon- 
sors at  present." 

"  I'd  as  soon  recommend  a  convict  from  Sing  Sing," 
he  muttered. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  I  protested.  "  Not  as  bad  as  that.  Be- 
sides, sometimes  you  have  to  recommend  even  a  convict." 

"  I'd  much  rather  recommend  a  convict.  I  hate  to  lie 
about  this  man.  I've  been  asked  whether  I  would  trust 
him  and  I  have  to  say  yes.  But  you  know  dashed  well 
I  wouldn't.  Give  me  a  cigarette,"  he  ended  savagely. 

"  I  think  he'll  go  straight  now,"  I  murmured  dully, 
passing  my  case  to  Dibdin  and  looking  away.  "  The 
children  will  no  doubt  have  an  influence  on  him." 

"  You  judge  everybody  by  yourself." 

"  How  d'ye  mean  —  myself  ?  " 

"  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,"  he  declared,  putting 
both  elbows  on  the  table,  "  I  had  no  idea  what  the  chil- 
dren would  do  to  you." 


1T2       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  What  did  they  do  to  me?  "  I  queried,  mystified. 

"  Made  you  over  —  that's  all." 

"  Explain,"  I  said,  gazing  at  him  stupidly. 

"  What  is  there  to  explain  ?  "  growled  Dibdin,  when 
the  waiter  was  out  of  earshot.  '  You  were  always  a 
decent  sort  of  idiot  —  bookworm,  muddler,  dilettante, 
whatever  it  was  —  afraid  of  real  life,  fit  only  to  collect 
pretty  little  books  or  old  musty  volumes  that  nobody 
really  cares  to  read  in  —  a  drifter,  with  about  as  much 
knowledge  of  the  problems  of  existence  as  a  stuffed  owl 
in  a  glass. 

;*  What  happened  ?  Your  sister's  orphans  come  to 
you.  You  plunge  into  life,  go  into  business  which  you 
detest,  lose  your  money,  go  to  work  as  a  clerk,  by  George ! 
You  of  all  people !  —  Keep  a  roof  over  them,  bring  them 
up  and  hang  me  if  I  don't  think  you  were  idiotically 
happy  in  it  all  until  I  brought  this  Old  Man  of  the  Sea !  — 
What  right  had  I  to  pick  him  up  and  bring  him  and  bun- 
gle it  all?  And  why  the  hell  didn't  you  warn  me  not 
to  fetch  him?  I  thought  I  was  helping  you  out.  I'd 
sooner  have  chucked  the  brute  overboard  —  I  would,  by 
Heaven!" 

For  a  moment  I  could  reply  nothing  at  all  to  Dibdin. 
His  estimate  and  account  of  my  actions  were  natural 
enough  to  him  who,  despite  his  burly  manner,  exagger- 
ates everybody's  qualities.  It  seemed  the  more  remark- 
able that  he  who  so  firmly  believed  in  the  second  chance 
should  now  find  no  word  to  say  in  Pendleton's  favor. 
But  I  could  see  clearly  enough  that  what  troubled  him 
was  the  pain  ne  instinctively  realized  the  departure  of  the 
children  from  me  to  Pendleton  was  certain  to  bring  me. 

"  Why  didn't  you  cable  me,  '  Lose  the  brute  ?  '  '  he 
took  up  his  argument. 

'*  Because,  my  dear  fellow,"  I  put  my  hand  on  his.  arm 
across  the  table,  "  it  was  too  late ;  once  you  had  found 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       173 

him  and  told  him  of  what  had  occurred  in  his  absence, 
it  was  too  late.  Would  you  like  to  live-  with  the  menac- 
ing uncertainty  of  him  overhanging  in  space?  Rather 
have  him  here  and  face  him.  Besides,  the  children  are 
his  "  —  I  knew  I  must  state  my  view  squarely  on  that 
head  —  "  If  he  is  fit  to  take  them,  then  have  them  he  must, 
regardless." 

"  Regardless  of  you,  you  mean?"     He  put  it  darkly. 

"Yes  —  regardless  of  me,  certainly.     I  don't  count" 

"  By  the  Lord !  "  and  his  fine  head  shot  upwards  in  a 
gesture  that  was  in  itself  invigorating.  "  D'you  know 
you  are  twenty  times  the  ma  i  you  were?  "  he  cried.  "  I 
couldn't  have  believed  it.  You  —  you're  stupendous !  " 

I  laughed  and  waved  him  away  with  a  "Retro,  So 
tanas." 

"  You're  going  it  blind  like  that,"  he  ran  on,  disregard- 
ing me,  —  "  Salmon  and  Byrd,"  with  a  laugh  —  "  losing 
all  your  money  and  then  —  Visconti's  —  slaving  for  the 
kids  —  meeting  it  all  —  by  gad,  you  are  living  life!  — 
heroic,  I  call  it  —  I  take  off  my  hat  to  you !  " 

"  Put  it  on  again,"  I  murmured,  moved  by  his  vehe- 
mence. It  was  certainly  agreeable  to  hear  such  words 
from  Dibdin,  who  never  lied.  Praise  is  a  sa,vory  dish, 
not  a1  thing  that  my  misspent  life  has  been  surfeited  with, 
and  it  was  exquisitely  soothing  to  one's  vanity.  But  it 
was  clear  enough  that  Dibdin  was  wrong.  His  usually 
lucid  view  was  obscured  by  the  tangle  of  circumstances 
that  weighed  upon  him.  Naturally,  I  could  not  leave  him 
in  his  error. 

"If  you  knew,"  I  managed  to  stammer,  "  the  malig- 
nant fear  that  is  eating  my  liver  white,  you  —  " 

"  Fear  of  what?  "  he  broke  in. 

"  Of  turning  those  kids  over  to  him ;  "  I  lowered  my 
voice  —  "  just  that  and  —  nothing  else." 

"Just  that,"  he  repeated  gloomily,  nodding  his  head 


174       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Who  would  have  supposed  it?  By  the  Lord!  If  ever 
there  was  a  bull  in  a  China  shop,  I  am  that  bull.  Why 
the  devil  did  I  ever  pick  the  brute  up  ?  Look  here !  "  he 
flashed  with  sudden  inspiration,  "  why  not  deport  him 
as  we  imported  him,  eh?  I  might  manage  it  —  I 
might!" 

"  No  —  no,  Dibdin  —  neither  you  nor  I  would  do  such 
a  thing." 

"  Why  not?  "  he  growled. 

"  That  would  make  us  —  worse  than  he  is,  or  was," 
I  explained  sadly.  For  I  must  own  that  for  an  instant 
my  heart  leaped  at  his  suggestion.  "  Besides,"  I  went 
on  prosily,  "  it's  not  so  easy  to  lay  a  ghost  when  once 
you've  raised  it.  We've  got  to  believe  him,  Dibdin,  my 
boy  —  if  only  for  the  young  ones'  sake.  He  will  prob- 
ably get  his  job,  and  the  thing  to  do  now  is  not  to  arouse 
his  suspicion  of  how  we  feel  about  him.  Believe  every- 
thing he  says  —  believe  in  him.  Thousands  every  year, 
according  to  the  newspapers,  turn  up  willfully  missing! 
He  was  tired  of  the  humdrum  life  and  lit  out;  that  is  all 
there  was  to  it  Now  he  wants  to  try  back.  You  your- 
self thought  he  ought  to  have  another  chance." 

There  was  genuine  pathos  in  old  Dibdin's  voice  when 
he  spoke  out  with  a  humid  somber  look : 

"  By  George,  that  chap's  the  Nemesis  of  us  all !  By 
his  one  willful  act  of  destructive  irresponsibility  he  has 
affected  all  our  lives  destructively.  It's  maddening  that 
one  worthless  brute  should  be  able  to  do  all  that.  He 
killed  Laura,  damn  him;  he  orphaned  these  kids;  he's 
upset  your  life  —  he  makes  wretched  conspirators  of  you 
and  me  —  g-r-r-r !  I'd  like  to  pound  him  to  a  jelly !  " 

I  laughed  joylessly. 

"  What  would  that  undo?  " 

"  Nothing,  I  dare  say,"  snapped  Dibdin,  "  Besides, 
you  really  have  no  complaint,  boy.  You  tower,  Ran- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       175 

dolr^h,  my  lad ;  yes,  by  George !  you  tower  head  and  shoul- 
ders above  any  one  I  know !  His  very  villainy  has  made 
you  over  —  blown  the  breath  of  life  into  you." 

I  believe  I  answered  something  flippant. 

"  Look  here !  "  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  movement  up- 
setting a  glass  of  water  and  disregarding  it.  "  If  those 
kids  go  over  to  him,  we  can  keep  an  eye  on  him  —  just 
the  same  —  as  though  we  were  with  them !  " 

"  How  d'you  mean  ?  "  I  queried,  puzzled. 

"  That  girl  —  what's  her  name  —  Alicia !  She'll  keep 
an  eye  on  him  —  and  them.  She's  sharp,  I  tell  you,  with 
her  innocent  blue  eyes.  Give  you  a  daily  report  like  — 
like  —  " 

"  No ! "  I  emphatically  interrupted  him.  "  That, 
never !  She  is  not  going  from  my  house  —  certainly  not 
to  him!" 

I  was  the  more  abashed  by  my  own  vehemence  when 
I  saw  Dibdin  staring  at  me  with  lifted  eyebrows. 

"  Why  —  you  are  not  —  "  he  began  blankly  —  but  I 
interrupted  him  hotly. 

"I  am  nothing!  —  She  is  to  me  just  as  Jimmie  and 
Laura  and  Randolph  are,  but  they  are  unfortunately  his. 
Don't  you  know  the  meaning  of  responsibility  for  young 
lives,  Dibdin?  I  want  to  give  her  her  chance,  educate 
her,  make  a  fine  woman  of  her.  They  have  a  father ;  she 
has  no  one  but  me.  I  can't  turn  her  out  —  and  I  wish," 
J  added  lamely,  "  I  had  as  much  right  to  keep  them  all." 

"  Whew !  "  he  whistled  in  renewed  astonishment. 

"  I  can  only  say  I  don't  know  you  any  more.  I  used 
to  know  you,  but  I'm  proud  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  the  new  Mr.  Randolph  Byrd." 

"  Don't  be  a  damn  fool,  Dibdin,"  I  mumbled  in  exas- 
peration. "  You  know  you  are  talking  rot.  Why  the 
devil  are  you  so  interested  in  the  kids?  There  is  that 
cheque  you  sent  — !  " 


176       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  You  haven't  cashed  it."  he  interposed,  moving1  hia 
shoulders  as  one  shaking  off  something.  "  Why  the 
deuce  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  some  day,"  I  grinned  at  him  feebly,  "  when 
I  need  it  mom.  But  you  haven't  answered  my  question." 

I  felt  I  was  goading  him  brutally  but  for  once  I  seemed 
to  have  the  dear  old  tramp  upon  the  hip.  For  all  his 
gruffness  he  was  as  full  of  emotions  as  anybody.  It 
seemed  to  me  absurd  for  a  man  to  hide  his  implanted  in- 
stinct, one  of  the  noblest  of  all  the  little  hidden  root- 
cellars  of  our  instincts,  under  a  false  shame  or  indiffer- 
ence. Women  are  wiser  —  they  don't  hide  theirs;  and 
I  had  become  shameless  about  mine. 

"  Why,"  I  repeated,  "  are  you  so  much  interested  in 
those  kids?" 

"  Don't  be  an  ass ! "  he  grunted,  looking  down  upon 
the  wet  tablecloth,  and  a  spasm  as  of  pain  crossed  his 
countenance, 

"  Ah,  you  see ! "  I  laughed,  attempting  to  lighten  his 
mood. 

"  Randolph,"  he  uttered  in  a  strange  solemn  tone  that 
sent  a  slight  thrill  through  me.  "  I  told  you  once  there 
was  a  woman  I  had  cared  about  —  and  only  one." 

"  Yes  —  but  you  never  married  her." 

"  No,"  he  continued  in  the  etiolated  tone  of  a  dead 
grief.  "  She  was  married  already  when  I  knew  her." 

And  then  my  sympathy  went  out  to  grizzled  old  Dib- 
din. 

"  I  arn  sorry,"  I  murmured,  touching  his  hand  across 
the  table.  "  Did  I  know  her?  " 

'  Yes,"  he  said  quietly,  "  you  knew  her.  It  was 
Laura." 

In  a  flash  of  poignantly  bitter  and  vain  regret  I  saw 
the  vista  of  the  dead  years  —  of  what  might  have 
been!  . 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MIRACLES  —  miracles  are  common  as  blackberries ! 

Pendleton  is  once  again  a  faithful  worker  in  the  vine- 
yard of  the  insurance  company. 

A  commonplace  miracle  enough,  but  all  miracles,  I 
suppose,  are  commonplaces  that  happen  to  surprise  us 
or  that  we  don't  understand. 

The  abstract  office,  I  am  sure,  has  more  joy  over  one 
sinner  that  repenteth  than  over  ninety  and  nine  —  but 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  blasphemous.  Like  Death,  it  claims 
us  all  in  the  end.  A  voluptuary,  an  idler  like  myself, 
or  a  renegade  who  broke  from  it  indefensibly  like  Jim 
Pendleton  —  all,  sooner  or  later  —  turn  or  return  to  its 
yoke  like  starved  runaway  slaves  —  the  unrelenting  of- 
fice! What  a  change  it  must  be  to  Jim  after  the  beaches 
and  the  barrooms  of  the  gorgeous  East!  But  for  one 
closely  relevant  circumstance  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  be  sorry  for  him. 

What  a  strange  and  wonderful  institution  is  the  fam- 
ily !  Another  of  those  commonplace  miracles  so  charged 
with  mystery,  like  birth  and  death.  If  I  were  a  classical 
writer  or  a  Sir  Barnes  Newcome  I  might  expatiate  at 
length  upon  the  subject.  The  things  we  swallow  and 
condone  and  cover  up  for  the  sake  of  its  ties ! 

Suffice  it,  however,  that  Jim  Pendleton  is  quietly  work- 
ing out  his  salvation,  a  salary  and  plans  for  re-creating 
his  dismembered  home. 

The  children  are  becoming  quite  used  to  him.  Ran- 
dolph seems  to  be  the  nearest  to  him  and  Jimmie  remains 


178       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

stubbornly  farthest  away.  It  is  painful  to  think  how- 
ever that  Jimrnie's  youth  will  the  more  certainly  and 
completely  detach  him  from  me  in  the  end. 

When  is  it  all  to  happen?  I  for  one  dare  not  fix  the 
fateful  day  which,  with  every  passing  hour,  draws  nearer. 
No  one  fixes  the  day.  It  is  left  dangling  in  the  air  by 
an  invisible  thread  of  uncertain  length  and  strength  — 

There  are  times  when  I  could  cry  out  in  my  anguish, 
my  agony  of  nameless  pain,  fear,  apprehension.  But 
what  a  spectacle  I  should  make  of  myself  if  I  gave  vent 
to  emotion !  We  humans  are  not  so  much  whited  sepul- 
chers  as  masked  and  silent  volcanoes. 

And  Jim  Pendleton  —  what  is  he  thinking,  feeling? 
He  is  suave,  quiet,  controlled.  He  is  very  gentle  with 
them  all,  and  particularly  soft-spoken  with  Alicia.  He 
has  taken  to  consulting  and  confabulating  with  her  touch- 
ing the  characteristics  and  the  needs  of  the  children. 
At  times  it  seems  to  me  that  I  cannot  bear  it  and  once 
at  least  I  have  called  her  and  spoken  harshly  to  her,  and 
charged  her  with  having  mislaid  a  volume  of  Book  Prices 
Current. 

How  childish  on  my  part!  But  my  nerves  are  not 
what  once  they  were.  They  are  tetchy  and  fractious. 
It  has  been  decreed  that  I  am  to  have  a  vacation  and  go 
away  for  a  fortnight  —  go  to  Maine  or  New  Hampshire. 
If  I  were  to  burst  into  laughter  at  the  thought,  I  might 
end  like  an  hysterical  woman,  in  uncontrollable  tears.  I 
could  no  more  go  now  than  I  could  spread  my  arms  and 
fly.  I  am  as  remote  from  the  holiday  spirit  as  from  the 
North  Star. 

Poor  Dibdin  —  how  mistaken  he  is  in  me !  He  blath- 
ers of  my  "towering  head  and  shoulders"  —  b-r-r-r!  it 
makes  me  shudder  with  shame.  What  a  weakling  I  am 
in  the  face  of  life! 

No  —  I  am  a  toiler  in  Bleecker  Street,  of  its  reeking 


pavements,  its  fly-infested  purlieus,  where  the  Italian 
children  grub  and  shout  and  sun  themselves  in  the  gut- 
ters, in  the  air  of  a  thousand  smells  throbbing  under  the 
noonday  sun.  The  homecoming  to  the  third-rate  suburb 
used  to  be  refreshing  and  soothing  like  a  delicate  per- 
fume. To  see  the  children  laughing  and  rosy  in  the 
square  inch  of  garden,  to  see  Alicia,  sparkling  with  her 
young  energy  and  enthusiasm,  —  it  had  all  been  like 
coming  into  a  cool  temple  filled  with  shapes  of  beauty, 
after  wandering  in  some  fetid  bazaar.  Now  it  is  dust 
and  ashes.  I  could  never  convey  to  Dibdin  or  to  any 
one  else  how  alone  I  feel  in  the  world,  what  chill  and 
cutting  blasts  of  desolation  sweep  into  my  life  every  time 
I  think  of  its  present  or  its'  future. 

Minot  Blackden  came  in  to  Visconti's  at  noon  to-day 
to  drag  me  out  to  lunch. 

"  Let's  stop  in  at  my  studio  for  a  minute,"  he  proposed 
as  he  steered  me  round  a  corner.  "  Something  for  you 
to  see." 

He  showed  me  a  small  rose  window  designed  for  some 
church  in  Cincinnati  and  turned  expectantly  to  catch  my 
exclamations.  I  gasped  out  some  inanities. 

"  Art,  my  boy !  "  he  gloated.     "  That's  art  for  you!  " 

"  It  is,  indeed !  "  I  assented  helplessly.  "  Only  sur- 
prising thing  is  how  a  real  artist  can  acquire  so  much 
fame.  Seems  to  me  I  see  something  about  you  in  every 
Sunday  newspaper  I  take  up." 

"  Ah,  that's  business  instinct,"  he  chuckled.  "  I  am 
no  amateur,  I  can  tell  you.  I  live  this  thing.  You  may 
think  it  insane,  but  sometimes  I  think  I  am,  Benvenuto 
Cellini  reincarnated."  He  was  not  laughing;  he  was  in 
deadly  earnest.  "  Come  in,"  he  added  solemnly,  direct- 
ing me  to  a  door  in  the  rear  of  his  shop.  "  I  want  to 
introduce  you  to  my  press  agent." 


180       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

I  was  duly  introduced  to  a  plain  bustling  Mrs.  Smith 
of  perhaps  thirty-five,  who  rose  from  a  typewriter  and 
spoke  with  a  devotional,  a  reverential  fervor  of  "  our 
work '%  while  casting  worshipful  glances  at  the  artist. 
How  do  the  Minot  Blackdens  inspire  such  adoration?  I 
know  I  have  rediscovered  no  lost  art  and  it  is  plain  I  am 
no  incarnation  of  Benvenuto  Cellini.  No  one  will  ever 
worship  me. 

"  Have  you  seen  Miss  Bayard  lately  ?  "  Blackden  in- 
quired as  we  sat  down  to  an  Italian  luncheon,  beginning 
with  sardines  and  red  pepper. 

"  No  —  I  haven't,"  I  answered,  surprised.  "  Do  you 
know  her?" 

"  Do  I  know  her !  Don't  you  remember  introducing 
us  in  front  of  Brentano's?  " 

I  had  forgotten  it,  and  it  seemed  to  hurt  him  that  I 
did  not  regard  his  movements  and  events  with  the  de- 
votional attention  of  his  press  agent. 

"  Of  course,"  I  nlurmured  lamely.  "  You've  seen  her 
again  ?  "  He  smiled  a  detached,  superior  smile  such  as 
the  immortals  might  smile  over  erring,  unregenerate  hu- 
mans, and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  dark,  artistic  hair. 

"  I  see  her  quite  often,"  he  explained.  "  Very  won- 
derful woman,  Miss  Bayard.  She  is  a  great  inspiration 
to  me  in  my  art.  My  art  has  taken  strides  and  leaps 
since  I  met  her.  Surprised  you  don't  seize  the  op- 
portunity of  seeing  her  oftener  —  a  truly  artistic  na- 
ture!" 

"Ass!"  I  thought.  But  aloud  I  explained  that  do- 
mestic preoccupations  left  me  little  time  for  social  or  any 
other  visits.  The  casualness  of  my  answer  seemed  to 
brighten  Blackden  perceptibly. 

I  recalled,  incidentally,  that  I  had  promised  Gertrude, 
though  heaven  knows  why,  to  let  her  know  the  upshot 
of  Pendleton's  return. 


181 

"  Tell  her,  when  you  see  her,  that  I  am  corning  very 
soon.  I've  had  a  good  deal  on  my  hands.  She  will 
understand." 

"  She  understands  everything,"  murmured  Blackden 
absently.  "Ah,  there  is  a  woman!  Yes,  I'll  tell  her." 
And  his  eyes  glowed  in  anticipation. 

He  was  positively  affectionate  to  me,  this  austere  artist, 
when  he  left  me  at  Visconti's  door. 

To  come  home,  as  I  have  said,  used  to  be  a  delight. 
The  presence  of  one  person  in  it  has  changed  it  to  a 
torment 

This  evening  when  I  approached  my  chalet  on  the 
rock,  I  found  Pendleton  in  high  good  humor  playing  a 
game  with  the  children  on  the  lawn. 

A  flap  of  canvas,  making  a  sort  of  pup  tent,  had  been 
fastened  to  the  tree  for  Jimmie,  to  give  him  that  touch 
of  savage  life  which  even  at  Crestlands  little  boys  seem 
to  crave.  Savage  life  at  Crestlands !  Yet  once  the  Mo- 
hicans roamed  here  and  the  Mohican  that  is  in  all  of  us 
craves  an  outlet  in  Jimmie.  It  craved  an  outlet  in  me 
when  I  saw  the  great  hulk  of  Pendleton  squatting  tailor- 
fashion  in  the  tent  entrance,  enacting  the  role  of  can- 
nibal chief.  I  stood  unobserved  for  a  moment,  watching 
the  scene  with  bitterness  in  my  heart  and  shame  on  top 
of  the  bitterness. 

"  Bring  the  prisoner  before  me,"  grunted  Pendleton 
in  the  character  of  the  chief. 

Tittering  in  suppressed  glee,  Randolph  and  Laura 
marched  Jimmie  up  to  Pendleton,  who  measured  the  child 
with  a  fearful  frown  and  demanded  where  were  the  other 
prisoners. 

"  They  escaped,  your  majesty,"  exploded  Randolph 
with  stifled  laughter.  '  This  white  man  alone  dared  to 
remain  and  brave  your  power !  " 


182       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  He  should  be  boiled  and  eaten  by  rights,"  Pendleton 
growled  truculently.  "  He  dares  to  face  the  Big  Chief 
of  the  Cannibal  Islands !  Because  of  his  great  courage, 
however,"  he  added  as  an  afterthought,  "  we  shall  spare 
his  life.  Of  such  stuff  great  warriors  are  made." 

"  Beware,  your  Majesty,"  giggled  Laura,  "  he  might 
treacherously  plan  some  harm,  to  you.  He  is  very  brave, 
this  white  chief !  " 

"  We  see  he  is  a  desperate  blade,"  answered  Pendle- 
ton judicially.  "  But  we  admire  bravery.  He  shall  be 
our  spear-bearer  in  battle." 

"  No,  I  want  to  be  eaten !  "  shrilled  Jimmie  in  his  ex- 
citement, whereat  the  others  shrieked  and  shook  with 
laughter. 

Alicia  alone  seemed  moderate  in  her  merriment.  I 
hugged  it  to  my  heart  that  she  appeared  to  look  a  shade 
sadly  upon  the  scene.  But  I  am  probably  wrong.  I 
went  indoors  and  sank  my  chin  upon  my  hands  with  a 
turmoil  of  emotions  which  I  wish  to  forget. 

Pendleton  is  winning  them,  there  is  no  doubt  about 
that  In  all  the  world  there  is  not  a  soul  who  would 
cling  to  me,  excepting  possibly  Griselda.  Shakespeare 
never  uttered  anything  truer  than  that  life  was  "  a  tale 
told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury,  signifying  noth- 
ing." 

I  wish  I  had  never  been  born. 

This  morning  I  longed  to  romp  and  riot  with  the  chil- 
dren, to  shake  off  every  atom  of  care,  to  laugh  and  roll 
on  the  floor  with  them,  to  be  happy  as  I  have  been 
happy,  but  I  could  not.  Held  in  the  grip  of  a  heartache 
that  permeated  every  fiber  in  my  body,  I  slunk  sullenly 
away  to  my  study  after  dinner  to  be  alone.  But  even 
that  I  could  not  have. 

Pendleton  followed  on  my  heels,  lit  a  cigar  and  in- 
quired whether  he  could  have  a  talk  with  me.  Naturally 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       183 

I  could  not  prevent  it.     I  can  prevent  nothing,  for  I  am 
no  longer  master  in  my  own  house. 

"  Old  man,"  he  began  in  his  suave  thick  voice,  which 
he  means  to  be  friendly,  which  to  me  seems  orgulous  with 
triumph.  "  Seems  to  me  you're  about  due  for  a  rest." 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  "  I  faltered,  wincing,  though  in- 
wardly I  knew  well  enough  what  he  meant. 

"  Just  what  I  say,"  he  smiled.  "  You  have  worked 
hard  enough  —  supporting  my  family.  Time  I  took  the 
load  off  your  shoulders  —  that's  what  I  mean." 

I  waved  my  hand  in  a  gesture  of  deprecation,  but  I 
could  not  speak. 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  he  insisted  doggedly,  though  even  now 
he  cannot  look  me  in  the  eyes,  "  you  didn't  do  it  specially 
for  me.  You  did  it  because  you  are  a  man  —  you  — 
bah !  they  don't  make  'em  like  you,  as  I've  told  you.  But 
you  don't  want  praise  from  me,  I  know  that.  You  don't 
need  it.  What's  more  to  the  point  is,  it's  time  I  took  a 
flat  or  small  house  in  one  of  the  suburbs  and  had  the  lot 
of  them  move  over  and  live  on  me  for  a  while.  About 
time,"  he  nodded  his  head  and  shifted  his  cigar,  "  about 
time!" 

Every  word  was  a  stab,  but  I  steeled  myself  for  the 
ordeal.  Wasn't  that  what  I  had  been  expecting  all  this 
time? 

"  When  —  do  you  want  to  make  the  change  ?  "  I  en- 
deavored to  speak  crisply,  as  when  I  address  the  National 
City  or  the  Guaranty  Trust  over  the  telephone  at 
Visconti's. 

"  Well,  I  thought  I'd  begin  to  look  round  to-morrow. 
There'll  be  the  place  to  find,  some  furniture  to  get  —  the 
installment  plan  will  help  —  whole  job  ought  to  be  fixed 
up  in  two  or  three  weeks,  I  guess,"  he  added  with  a  laugh. 
"  Uncle  Ranny  will  have*  to  come  to  supper  pretty  often 
to  keep  the  kids  as  happy  as  we'd  like  to  see  them,  eh?  " 


184       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  But  a  going  household  — "  I  spoke  quickly  in  a  sort 
of  last  spasm  of  pitiful  expostulation  —  "  it's  quite  a  — 
an  undertaking  to  set  going?  " 

"  Yes  —  I  know,"  he  nodded  soberly.  "  Don't  think 
I  don't  know  I'll  have  to  push  the  wheel  hard  —  with 
both  shoulders.  But  d'you  know,"  he  lifted  a  confiden- 
tial eyebrow,  "  that  young  woman  —  Alicia  —  will  be  a 
great  help  to  me  —  quite  a  little  housekeeper,  she  is  — 
quite  a  kid  —  I  hope  Laura  will  take  after  her." 

My  heart  was  of  lead.  If  he  was  watching  my  face, 
he  must  have  perceived  a  deadly  pallor  sweeping  every 
drop  of  blood  away  from  it.  There  was  a  pounding  in 
my  ears  like  rushing  waters. 

"  Alicia,"  I  heard  myself  saying  as  one  speaking  after 
being  rescued  from  drowning,  "  Alicia,  you  know,  isn't 
my  child  —  or  yours.  I  can't  send  her  to  you.  She  — 
there  are  formalities  —  but,  anyway,  her  wishes  are  a 
factor  in  the  matter.  I'll  do  anything,  old  man,"  my 
head  seemed  to  swell  suddenly  and  shoot  upwards  like 
a  cork  from  an  abyss,  and  my  face  was  damp  with  per- 
spiration — "  anything,  but  I  can't  send  that  child  to 
you  unless  —  unless  she  is  keen  —  you  see  that,  don't 
you?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see  —  certainly."  He  was  looking  away 
as  he  spoke.  I  have  a  lingering  hope  he  had  not  been 
watching  my  face.  "  That's  all  true,  of  course.  But 
put  yourself  in  my  place,  Randolph.  Here  are  three 
motherless  children.  She,  that  girl,  has  been  a  kind  of 
mother  to  them.  Seems  to  have  a  born  faculty  for  it. 
What  would  I  do  without  her,  just  starting  in  like  that 
—  you  understand !  " 

"  Surely,  surely !  "  I  hastened  to  assure  him,  because 
I  felt  slightly  more  master  of  myself.  "  But  you  see  my 
point  —  she  doesn't  belong  to  me.  And  even  if  she  did 
-  I  can't  just  pass  her  about  —  it's  a  responsibility  - 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       185 

her  wish  —  what  I  mean  is,  I  can't  coerce  her  in  any 
way." 

And  suddenly  I  saw  the  children  away  from  me,  with 
this  dubious,  mysterious  man,  alone,  and  my  heart  was 
wrung  with  agony.  With  Alicia,  at  least  —  but,  no!  I 
could  not  acquiesce  so  completely. 

"Coerce  —  certainly  not,"  was  his  wholly  reasonable 
comment.  "  I  reckon  a  word  from  you  would  go  a  long 
way,  though.  But  I  see  your  point,  Randolph,  I  see 
your  point.  Tell  you  what !  "  he  began  in  a  new  tone. 
"  Suppose  we  put  it  this  way.  I'll  speak  to  her  myself  — 
I'll  put  it  up  to  her — leave  you  out  of  it  altogether,  see? 
—  leave  it  to  her  to  decide  —  so  you  won't  have  to  — 
you'll  be  neutral,  you  see  ?  —  What's  the  matter  with  do- 
ing it  that  way  ?  " 

A  thousand  devils  within  me  moved  me  with  all  but 
irresistible  force  to  jump  at  his  throat,  to  stifle  his  words, 
to  choke  the  beastly  life  out  of  him,  to  end  the  torment 
then  and  there.  But  I  could  not  —  I  could  not.  I  knew 
he  was  expressing  by  his  words  his  sense  of  certainty 
that  he  could  win  over  Alicia,  as  he  had  won  the  chil- 
dren —  that  I  was  helpless  in  his  hands  —  that  I  was  a 
weakling  whom  he  was  making  the  barest  pretense  of 
respecting  —  that  he  could  strip  my  household  of  all  I 
held  dear  with  an  ease  so  laughable  that  he  could  not 
even  bother  to  ridicule  me.  And  yet  I  could  not  rise  up 
and  strangle  him. 

As  one  in  a  vise,  I  sat  for  a  moment  chained  by  wild 
conflicting  passions,  and  then  —  a  strange  thing  hap- 
pened. A  feeling  of  nakedness,  a  sense  of  being  stripped 
of  everything  like  another  Job,  of  being  utterly  alone  in 
the  world  fell  about  me  like  an  atmosphere.  I  felt  de- 
prived of  everything,  though  not  bereft.  It  was  an  odd 
feeling,  a  sort  of  involuntary  renunciation  of  all  that  was 
my  life  in  which  yet  I  calmly  acquiesced.  I  faced  and 


186       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

addressed  Pendleton  almost  with  tranquillity.  Certainly 
I  experienced  a  strange  new  dignity  that  was  very  sooth- 
ing, very  grateful,  as  water  to  the  thirsty  after  battle. 

"  Very  well,  Jim,"  I  heard  myself  saying  quietly. 
"  Go  ahead  your  own  way.  That  perhaps  is  best." 

All  that  I  remember  is  a  gleam  of  triumph  in  his  eye. 
No  word  of  all  his  chunnering  and  maundering  after- 
wards do  I  recall.  He  talked  on,  smoking,  for  perhaps 
four  or  five  minutes  and  then  he  left  me. 

By  myself  I  felt  at  once  strangely  heavy  as  a  mountain 
and  insubstantial  as  the  shadow  thereof. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AGAIN  and  again  I  have  been  told  that  I  am  a  fool. 
But  not  even  my  dearest  friends  have  called  me  mad. 

Are  the  gods  then  really  so  anxious  to  destroy  me? 
What  have  I  done  to  deserve  it  ? 

This  morning,  after  last  night's  interview  with  Pendle- 
ton,  I  saw  Alicia  —  suddenly  saw  her  as  it  seemed  for 
the  first  time.  And  yet  an  overwhelming  realization 
flooded  me  like  a  tidal  wave  that  through  countless  ages 
she  and  she  alone  had  been  inexpressibly  dear  to  me. 
She,  the  divine  ideal  I  had  been  pursuing,  catching  fitful 
glimpses  of  in  glades  and  forests,  on  mountain  tops,  in 
palaces,  in  fantastic  surroundings,  amid  incredible  scenes 
of  a  dim  and  ancient  dream-life,  more  real  than  any 
reality  —  she  was  Alicia,  this  child  Alicia, 

And  I  am  more  than  twice  her  age ! 

Nothing  can  come  of  it  but  misery  and  wretchedness 
for  me.  By  no  word  or  sign  dare  I  convey  such  a  thing 
to  her  or  to  any  one  else  —  to  no  one  except  these  pale 
pages  that  receive  my  poor  motley  confidences  with  the 
only  discretion  I  can  trust. 

She  is  dearer  to  me  than  all  the  worlds.  Yet  not  only 
must  I  remain  dumb  but  I  must  guard  my  every  word, 
gesture,  thought  even,  as  never  before. 

In  the  midst  of  all  else  this  is  a  catastrophe.  Yet  it 
overshadows  and  overbalances  everything. 

Let  me  disclose  the  truth  by  so  much  as  a  sign,  and 
every  act  and  motive  of  mine  becomes  abruptly  suspect, 


188       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

and  I  shall  stand  revealed  for  the  immoral,  shameful 
creature  that  I  suppose  I  am. 

I  could  face  that,  I  believe,  if  there  were  any  possibil- 
ity —  but  there  isn't. 

I  must  hide  and  cover  and  conquer  the  feeling  by  in- 
anition. But  how  can  I,  when  she  is  so  untellably  dear 
and  precious  to  me? 

No,  no !  A  thousand  times  no !  I  cannot  let  Pendle- 
ton  try  to  inveigle  her  to  leave  me.  No ! 

And  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  betray  this  garish  resolution 
and  my  secret  will  be  out,  and  all  that  I  am  and  have 
done  will  stand  forth  as  naked  pretense  and  I  shall  ap- 
pear stripped  and  manacled  like  a  common  criminal  too 
good  for  the  hangman. 

And  I  have  dared  to  judge  Pendleton! 

The  time-honored  remedy  in  fiction,  when  a  man  finds 
himself  in  love  with  any  one  he  has  no  business  to  love 
is,  I  believe,  to  go  away,  to  travel.  How  ridiculous  that 
sounds  to  me.  The  only  place  I  can  go  to  is  Visconti's. 
To  Visconti's!  And  now  I  have  come  back  from  Vis- 
conti's and  I  cannot  stay  in  the  house. 

I  cannot  stay  in  the  house  because  Alicia  is  in  it  —  and 
Pendleton ! 

Oh,  he  will  have  his  way,  I  am  sure!  The  Old  Man 
of  the  Sea  infallibly  has.  Why  should  the  unscrupulous 
always  have  the  advantage?  I  abhor  to  think  of  him. 

It  is  Alicia  that  is  filling  my  mind,  my  heart,  my  life. 
I  have  been  trying  to  think  of  her  even  until  yesterday 
as  a  child,  and  I  know  I  have  been  deceitful.  She  is  a 
woman  —  she  is  womanhood.  I  see  her  now  in  her 
radiance  and  every  movement  and  gesture  of  her,  every 
act,  every  glance  speaks  of  the  freshness  and  youth  of 
life,  of  a  supreme,  a  divine  beauty.  I  have  called  her  a 
child  and  I  yearn  to  sink  at  her  knees  and  cry  out  my 
anguish  and  my  adoration.  I  am  the  child,  helpless  be- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       189 

fore  her.  Whatever  I  conceal,  I  cannot  conceal  what  her 
going  would  do  to  me.  It  would  shatter  what  remains 
of  my  life.  And  I  suffered  Pendleton  yesterday  to  pro- 
pose calmly  that  she  go  over  to  him  —  trafficking  in 
Alicia !  —  and  with  Pendleton !  It  is  stifling  to  think  of. 
I  must  go  out.  But  I  cannot  let  any  of  them  see  me.  I 
feel  like  a  thief  in  my  own  house.  The  window  —  ah, 
I  can  slip  out  for  at  least  a  solitary  hour  under  the  stars ! 

I  did  not  manage  to  get  out  under  the  stars  after  all. 
Just  as  I  began  to  fumble  with  the  screen  Alicia  asked 
leave  to  come  in.  No  presence  could  have  been  more 
welcome  to  me,  but  the  dark  thoughts  under  which  I  had 
been  brooding  made  me  wince  with  pain  as  she  entered. 
Nevertheless  I  contrived  to  greet  her  with  almost  nor- 
mal cheerfulness. 

"  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  began  hurriedly  in  an  under- 
tone, coming  close  to  me,  "is  it  really  coming,  then?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  ?  "  I  asked  her,  though 
such  subterfuges  are  quite  useless  with  Alicia. 

"  Oh,  he's  just  been  telling  me  that  he  has  his  eye  on 
a  flat  near  Columbia  University  in  New  York  —  that 
he  expects  to  have  it  going  by  the  time  the  schools 
open  —  hasn't  he  told  you?  " 

"What  else  did  he  say?"  I  queried  breathlessly. 

"  Nothing  much. —  only  he  asked  me  whether  I  didn't 
think  it  was  wise  to  get  settled  there  as  soon  as  possible. 
He  is  very  nice  to  me." 

"Is  that  all?"  I  breathed. 

"  Yes,  that's  about  all  —  but  isn't  that  enough  ?  " 

I  smiled  feebly  and  sank  into  my  chair  with  immense 
relief. 

I  longed  to  draw  her  to  me,  to  enfold  her,  to  rest  her 
head  against  my  heart,  to  hold  her  close  and  to  exclude 
thereby  all  black  care  and  worry,  all  overhanging  shad- 


190       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

ows,  all  the  threatening  and  looming  clouds  of  exist- 
ence —  to  make  my  world  blissfully  complete.  But  I 
am  only  "  Uncle  Ranny  "  to  her  —  and  I  felt  a  shudder 
pass  down  my  spine. 

"  And  you,  Alicia,"  I  managed  to  say.  "  What  did 
you  answer?  " 

"Of  course,  I  said  that  was  true  —  what  could  I  say? 
But  oh,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  leaned  toward  me  as  she  stood 
at  my  desk,  "  I  am  afraid,  Uncle  Ranny !  They  are  ours 
—  aren't  they  —  I  know  he's  their  father,  but  I  can't  help 
feeling  as  though  we  were  —  handing  them  over  to  a 
stranger  —  Oh,  I  suppose  I  ought  not  say  it  —  some  one 
we  don't  know  at  all ! " 

And  she  burst  into  tears. 

Blood  and  flesh  could  not  bear  it  longer.  I  twitched 
and  writhed  in  my  chair  for  an  instant,  then  I  leaped 
up  and  threw  my  arms  about  her  and  strained  her  to  me. 

"  My  darling,"  I  murmured  brokenly,  "  and  how  do 
you  suppose  I  feel  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  she  sobbed  and  gently,  very  much  as 
Jimmie  or  Laura  might  have  done,  she  put  her  arms 
about  me  and  nestled  as  though  I  were  some  one  old  and 
fragile  for  whom  she  had  a  deep  affection  —  but  that 
was  all.  Alicia's  first  embrace! 

And  then  I  knew  also.  She  did  not,  I  trust,  for  an  in- 
stant suspect  the  bitterness  of  the  cup  I  was  that  mo- 
ment draining.  But  why  should  I  expect  anything  else? 
The  guilt  in  my  own  heart  tells  me  enough, —  and  too 
much  —  of  exactly  where  I  stand.  Alicia  is  still  a  child. 
As  yet  evidently  she  did  not  even  suspect  that  Pendleton 
was  bent  upon  taking  her  also.  Suppose  I  prevented  that, 
then  what  of  the  other  three  whom,  in  another  way,  I 
love  no  less?  My  hes.d  was  throbbing  d'izzily,  my  pulses 
were  beating  like  drums.  For  me  this  was  the  supreme 
moment  of  anguish  and  sacrifice;  the  dark  night  of  the 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       191 

soul,  that  noche  oscura  that  St.  John  of  the  Cross  knows 
so  well  how  to  describe,  that  shakes  one's  being  and 
changes  one's  life  forever  more.  My  lot  seemed  to  be  to 
sacrifice  and  break  myself  in  final  and  complete  renun- 
ciation, to  drain  my  cup  of  bitterness  to  its  uttermost 
dregs. 

For  a  moment  the  world  was  as  a  shadow,  swaying, 
airy  and  insubstantial.  The  cowled  monk  that  is  buried 
somewhere  within  me  was  suddenly  uppermost  and  the 
life  of  the  world  seemed  sordid  and  leprous,  a  deadly 
thing  rotted  with  lusts  and  passions,  a  thing  to  run  away 
from  —  that  was  pulling  me  into  its  sensual  center.  But 
only  for  a  moment. 

Then  suddenly  the  blood  surged  to  my  temples,  as 
Alicia  lay  in  my  arms,  and  the  ancient  cunning  of  a 
thousand  male  ancestors,  of  savage  hunters  and  crafty 
warriors  who  died  that  I  might  live,  swept  into  my  thews 
and  nerves  and  brain  and  I  crackled  with  eagerness  to 
fight  for  my  own. 

No !  —  I  would  not  —  could  not  give  up  all  that  I  held 
dear.  I  would  fight!  I  gripped  Alicia's  shoulders  in  a 
spasm  of  fierce  joy  and  in  a  hoarse  guttural  voice  that 
surprised  her  no  more  than  it  surprised  me,  I  breathed 
out: 

"Never  fear,  Alicia — it  can't  be!  It  won't  be.  He 
hasn't  done  it  yet.  I'll  do  something — I  don't  know 
what  as  yet.  But  give  me  time  —  a  little  time  —  I'll 
work  it  out.  We'll  fight  if  we  must  —  but  we  won't 
give  up  tamely !  " 

Alicia's  warm  cheek  against  mine,  though  with  a  trust 
that  can  only  be  described  as  childlike,  was  reward 
enough  for  victory,  let  alone  for  this  still  empty  chal- 
lenge. But  an  irresistible,  throbbing  feeling  of  confi- 
dence tells  me  that  something  will  happen  —  that  I  shall 
win! 


192       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Is  it  simply  the  confidence  of  a  fool,  and  the  surge  of 
melodrama  that  is  never  very  far  from  any  of  us  ?  Pos- 
sibly. But  my  blood  still  throbs  and  my  muscles  still 
crackle  with-  the  strange  eagerness  and  lust  for  battle. 
It  may  be  that  the  fragrance  and  the  starry  look  of 
Alicia  that  linger  with  me  yet,  the  sweet  joy  and  pride 
of  Alicia  when  she  returned  my  good-night  kiss  before 
she  left  me,  the  affection  with  which'  she  clung,  the  re- 
luctance with  which  she-  went,  all  have  something  to  do 
with  this  new  accession  of  courage.  But  I  do  not  com- 
fort myself  with  vain  things.  Alicia  happens  to  be  a  girl 
whose  affections  have  never  been  pampered  by  any  dot- 
ing parents.  If  she  looks  upon  me  in  loco  parentis,  that 
ought  to  be  enough  for  me.  It  is  not  enough.  And  the 
pain  of  that  leaves  a  barbed  sting  in  my  breast.  But  that 
wound  I  shall  carry  gladly  —  I  shall  wear  my  hair  shirt 
like  the  girl  wife  of  Jacopone  da  Todi  —  if  only  I  can 
play  the  man. 

The  evening1  and  the  morning  were  a  day — the  first 
day  of  a  new  life,  and  what  a  day! 

I  went  down  in  the  train  with  Pendleton  and  briskly 
suggested  that  he  need  not  hurry  with  his  arrangements. 

"  I  thought,"  said  he,  with'  a  furtive,  sidelong  glance 
at  me,  "  that  my  first  duty  was  to  ease  you.  I  owe  you 
too  much  already,"  he  added,  looking  out  toward  the 
drabness  of  the  Mt.  Vernon  right  of  way. 

"  It's  only  strangers  and  enemies  that  owe  each  other 
things;"  I  countered  easily.  "  Friends  owe  each  other 
everything1  and  nothing.  There  is  no  audit  for  such  ac- 
counts." 

He  laughed  out  of  proportion  to  the  deserts  of  this 
lump  of  wisdom  and  exclaimed : 

"  You're  great,  Randolph  — -  great !  " 

It  was  my  turn  to  laugh,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  the  ad- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       193 

vantage  of  him.  With  the  sixth  sense,  or  the  pineal 
gland,  or  whatever  it  is,  I  was  conscious  that  he  was  a 
little  afraid  of  me  —  and  that  did  not  damage  my  temper. 

"Your  experience  in  life  has  been  so  —  peculiar,"  I 
told  him,  "  that  anybody  would  be  glad  to  be  of  any 
service  possible.  And  you  must  remember  that  Laura 
was  my  only  sister.  Tell  me,"  I  added  conversationally, 
"  don't  you  find  the  harness  galling  at  times  after  all  — 
you  have  been  through  ?  " 

"  Galling !  Say,  Randolph',  those  little  machine  peo- 
ple in  their  skyscraper  beehives  —  cages  —  don't  know 
what  living  is!  —  Freedom!"  .  .  . 

For  the  first  time  I  had  noted  the  light  of  spontaneity 
glowing  in  his  eyes,  and  my  heart  bounded :  I  was  about 
to  hear  a  confession.  But  on  a  sudden  he  checked  him- 
self and  looked  away.  "  Of  course,"  he  added  in  a  forced 
tone,  "  one  has  to  face  one's  responsibilities.  No  —  take 
it  all  in  all,  I  am  glad  to  be  doing  my  share  of  the  work 
and  carrying  my  burden." 

I  knew  he  was  lying.  I  knew  that  his  first  outburst 
was  the  true  Pendleton;  that  the  addendum  was  meant, 
as  politicians  say,  for  home  consumption, 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  I  muttered  hastily,  "  but  we're 
only  human."  And  alternately  I  cudgeled  my  poor  wits 
to  stand  by  me  and  prayed  to  them  as  to  deities  to  light 
my  way. 

This  lawless  spirit,  Pendleton,  I  had  a  vague  gleam 
of  intuition,  was  repenting  his  return  to  the  yoke  of 
duty,  to  the  restraints  of  civilization.  What,  then,  was 
it  that  held  him?  It  was  not  a  suddenly  developed  con- 
science. Of  that  I  was  certain.  There  was  a  problem 
I  must  solve  and  solve  immediately. 

We  parted  with  cordiality  at  Grand  Central  station 
and  twenty  minutes  later  I  was  one  of  those  little  ma- 
chines functioning  at  Visconti's. 


194       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  I  want  a  draft  at  thirty  days,"  I  was  saying,  "  for 
ten  thousand  lire  on  Naples.  Your  best  rate  at  that 
date."  And  with  the  receiver  to  my  ear  I  heard  a  voice 
within  me,  independent  of  the  telephone,  whispering: 

"  Could  it  be  that  he  too  is  bewitched  by  Alicia  ?  —  with 
all  his  roving  and  experience  —  or  is  it  his  sense  of  duty 
to  his  children  ?  " 

"  Four  ninety-eight,"  said  the  exchange  man,  Hoskyns, 
at  the  National  City,  and  "  four  ninety-eight,"  I  re- 
peated after  him  automatically.  "  Can't  you  do  better  — 
at  thirty  days  ?  "  And  the  independent  voice  in  my  brain 
put  in:  "Perhaps  I  am  hipped  upon  the  subject  of 
Alicia  ?  "  And  so  the  morning  wore  on. 

Gertrude,  to  my  surprise  and  confusion,  rang  me  up 
at  eleven. 

"  Good  morning,  Ranny,"  she  opened  sweetly.  "  You 
haven't  kept  your  promise,  have  you  ?  " 

"Promise?"  I  repeated  dully.     "What  promise?" 

"  You  said  you  would  keep  me  informed  about  Pen- 
dleton's  return.  You  haven't  done  it  —  have  you?" 

"  But  you  have  been  away  for  the  summer,  haven't 
you  ?  "  I  ventured  desperately. 

"  Yes,  and  I  am  back,"  she  murmured  gently,  "  and 
still  —  better  come  and  lunch  with  me  to-day  —  don't 
you  think  so?  " 

If  there's  any  one  thing  that  my  career  as  a  business 
man  has  done  for  me,  it  is  to  implant  in  my  heart  a  hatred 
for  procrastination  and  shiftiness.  I  had  no  luncheon 
engagement,  and  yet  I  despairingly  told  her  I  had. 

"  Dinner,"  she  answered,  "  would  suit  me  even  better." 

"  I  ought  to  go  home,"  I  protested  feebly,  with  a  sink- 
ing instinctive  feeling  that  I  really  ought  not  to  resume 
such  relations  with  Gertrude. 

"  We'll  have  an  early  little  meal,  at  six-thirty,"  she 
smoothly  ignored  me.  "  Until  then,  good-by." 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       195 

1  clicked  the  receiver  angrily  for  a  moment,  but  Ger- 
trude had  hung  up.  Her  high-handed  manner  irritated 
me,  but  that  was  her  characteristic.  We  were  more 
leagues  apart,  Gertrude  and  I,  than  ever  she  or  I  could 
travel  backward.  And  though  the  results  of  our  meet- 
ing seemed  to  be  unsatisfactory  to  Gertrude,  I  must  in 
justice  to  her  admit  that  she  is  always  an  admirable 
hostess. 

I  had  telephoned  to  my  house  that  I  was  not  to  be 
expected  to  dinner,  and  when  Griselda  had  dryly  an- 
swered, "  Ye  don't  know  what  ye'll  miss,"  I  thought 
with  a  pang  that  I  knew  more  about  that  than  she  did. 
Gertrude's  calm  and  comfortable  atmosphere,  however, 
her  deep  chairs  and  sofas  and  the  air  of  excluding  a 
disorderly  world,  were  not  disagreeable  to  one  fresh  from 
the  filthy  pavements  south  of  Fourth  Street.  Could 
those  junk  shops,  paper-box  factories,  delicatessen 
"  garages  "  and  machine  shops  be  in  the  same  world  with 
Gertrude's  flat,  in  Gramercy  Park?  Yet  they  were  only 
a  little  more  than  a  mile  away,  and  those  were  my  real 
world,  my  daily  environment.  Gertrude's  flat  was  now 
foreign  ground. 

"Yes  —  goose  of  a  man!  —  don't  you  see?  What 
could  be  better?  The  man  comes  back  anxious  to  re- 
assume  his  responsibilities.  You  have  had  a  Hades  of 
a  time,  but  you  have  done  the  square  thing,  acquitted 
yourself  like  a  man  and  a  hero.  And  now  the  little 
romance  ends  happily  and  everything  is  satisfactory 
and  you  are  free  again  —  what  could  be  more  delight- 
ful?" 

The  heaviness  of  my  heart  portended  anything  but 
delight,  but  I  remained  silent. 

"  Don't  think  I  am  being  trivial,  Ranny/'  she  resumed 
with  a  more  sober  vehemence.  "  It  was  a  wonderful 
thing  to  do.  I  feel  I  was  wrong  in  what  I  advised  in 


the  past.  Your  sticking  to  the  children  has  done  heaps 
for  you  —  for  your  development,  I  mean  —  more  for 
you  than  for  them,  perhaps,"  she  inserted  as  a  parenthe- 
sis with  a  laugh.  "  But  don't  be  quixotic  now.  Every- 
thing's coming  right  in  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds. 
So  don't  go  throwing  a  wrench  into  the  machinery  just 
because  you've  had  the  wrench  in  your  hand  so  long  you 
can't  think  what  else  to  do  with  it ! " 

"  I  am  not  good  at  changes,"  I  murmured  gloomily. 
"  I  was  catapulted  from  one  kind  of  life  into  another 
by  main  force  of  circumstances.  Now  I  don't  feel  I 
can  stand  being  shot  back  into  something  else.  The  wear 
and  tear,  the  strain  is  too  great." 

I  will  not  deny  that  what  I  chiefly  saw  at  that  moment 
was  a  disruption  that  would  rob  me  not  only  of  the 
affection  of  the  children  of  which  I  could  not  speak,  but 
of  Alicia,  of  whom  I  could  speak  even  less. 

Gertrude  graciously  lit  a  cigarette  for  me  and  sat 
down  beside  me.  She  herself,  however,  was  not  smoking. 

"There  is  one  change,  Ranny,"  she  began  in  a  new 
and  strange  voice  that  was  almost  tender,  "  that  would 
do  you  more  good  than  anything  else  in  the  world  —  can 
you  guess  what  I  mean?  " 

"  A  trip  abroad  ?  "  I  fumbled  uncertainly. 

"  No  "  —  smiled  Gertrude  quietly  laying  her  hand  on 
mine,  "  I  mean  —  marriage." 

"  Oh,  my  God ! "  I  exclaimed  in  an  agony  of  appre- 
hension, and  a  cold  perspiration  bedewed  my  forehead. 
That  was  one  thing  I  never  had  expected  Gertrude  to  dis- 
cuss with  me  again,  even  in  the  abstract. 

I  do  not  remember  what  I  ate,  except  that  the  dinner 
was  dainty  and  cool  and  exquisite.  There  was  a  dewy 
cup  of  something  light  and  refreshing  and  Gertrude's 
frock  was  charming,  her  eyes  were  bright  and  there  was 
a  touch  of  color  in  her  cheeks.  She  did  little  talking 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       197 

herself  at  first,  but  pressed  me  to  tell  her  all  I  could  of 
Pendleton. 

I  told  her.  I  told  her  of  his  coming,  of  his  air  of 
penitence,  of  his  returning1  to  the  offices  of  the  insur- 
ance company  and  of  his  present  effort  to  reestablish 
a  home  for  his  children.  The  only  suppressions  I  was 
conscious  of  were  any  references  to  Alicia  or  to  my  own 
somber  emotions  on  the  score  of  the  children.  Other- 
wise I  was  frank  enough,  Heaven  knows,  for  it  is  hard 
for  me  not  to  be.  To  the  very  end  Gertrude  did  not  in- 
terrupt me.  Only  when  I  had  done  she  made  one  crisp, 
incisive  comment  with  a  faint  smile  that  was  merely 
a  lift  of  the  upper  lip. 

"  The  one  thing  I  cannot  understand,  Ranny,"  she 
observed,  "  is  your  unreasonable  skepticism." 

"  You  fed  you  could  trust  such  a  man  implicitly?  "  I 
demanded. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  firm  reply.  "  If  there  is  any  one  thing 
clear,  it  is  that  Jim  Pendleton  is  genuinely  penitent. 
Suppose  that  lost-memory  story  is  all  moonshine,  as  you 
and  Dibdin  seem  to  think.  By  coming  back  that  way 
doesn'f  the  man  really  display  more  character  than  if  it 
were  true?  He  really  shows  that  if  he's  gone  wrong  he 
has  the  stamina  to  come  right  again  —  and  that's  a  good 
deal  in  this  wicked  world,  Ranny." 

"  I  had  not  looked  at  it  in  that  light,"  I  muttered, 
disturbed. 

"  I  know  you  haven't,"  she  gave  a  triumphant  laugh. 
"  You  couldn't  be  calm  on  the  subject.  You  really  are 
an  emotional,  high-strung  romantic,  Ranny,  and  I  don't 
altogether  blame  you  for  being  prejudiced.  But  any  dis- 
passionate person  knowing  the  facts  will  tell  you  I  am 
right." 

"  It  would  be  difficult  for  me  to  feel  dispassionate  on 
the  subject,"  I  returned  doggedly. 


198       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Certainly  it  would,"  was  her  ready  reply.  "  That's 
why  I  am  glad  I  captured  you.  Some  friend  had  to  show 
you  your  own  interest." 

"  My  interest  ?  " 

"  Ranny,"  she  cried  in  a  voice  charged  with  purpose 
if  not  with  emotion,  — •  with  an  intense,  a  vibrating  reso- 
lution that  impinged  like  a  heavy  weight  upon  my  senses. 
"  Ranny  —  don't  let's  be  children  —  we  are  too  old  for 
that.  Let  bygones  be  bygones.  I'll  humiliate  myself 
before  you.  I  —  I  love  you,  Ranny  —  "  and  her  lips 
really  quivered  — -.  "  I  have  always  loved  you  —  will  you 
marry  me,  Ranny  ?  " 

Her  face  seemed  strange,  transformed  by  the  force  of 
an  irresistible,  a  final  compulsion.  I  writhed  under  her 
gaze  as  one  on  a  rack.  She  hung  for  a  moment,  her  eyes 
glittering  into  mine,  positively  tremulous;  I  had  never 
seen  Gertrude  so  serious.  I  could  not  bear  it.  It  was 
excruciating.  I  know  Gertrude  was  not  herself.  I  leaped 
from  the  sofa,  her  hand  still  clinging  to  mine. 

"  I  can't  —  I  can't,  Gertrude,"  I  whispered  hoarsely. 
"  Oh  —  I  —  wish  —  but  I  am  horribly  sorry  —  I  can't !  " 

Gertrude's  nerves  are  strong  and  her  control  over  them 
is  stronger.  She  gazed  at  me  for  an  instant,  intently, 
searchingly,  dropped  my  hand  and  turned  away. 

"  There  is  some  one  else,"  she  murmured  in  level  tones 
to  herself;  "  there  is  some  one  else  now." 

"Yes,"  I  breathed,  "though  it  won't  —  it  can't—-" 
and  I  paused. 

"  You  needn't  tell  me,"  she  turned,  smiling  harshly. 
"  I  know  —  it's  that  girl  —  the  gutter-sni  —  but  it 
doesn't  matter.  Every  man  is  a  fool  —  and  you  are  the 
least  likely  to  prove  an  exception.  Oh,  I  always  knew 
that  —  felt  it  —  but  never  mind.  I  can't  humiliate  my- 
self any  more,  can  I  ?  —  Ranny,"  her  voice  suddenly 
struck  a  quieter  note.  "  One  thing  I  must  ask  for  our 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       199 

old  friendship's  sake :  You  will  forget  this  —  episode  — 
will  you  not?  And  I  shall  try  to." 

"  My  dear  Gertrude  —  "I  threw  out  my  hands  in  a 
gesture  of  helplessness.  If  there  was  any  humiliation  it 
was  I  who  was  suffering  it.  She  looked  at  me  calmly, 
stonily.  The  color  in  her  cheeks  was  exactly  the  same  as 
before.  Had  Gertrude  stooped  to  rouge? 

"  Your  dear  Gertrude  —  yes ;  then  that's  all  right. 
Have  a  drink  before  you  go?  No?  Very  well.  You 
will  remember  some  day  that  I  have  given  you  my  best  — 
done  my  best  for  you." 

It  seems  inherent  in  the  nature  of  woman,  so  cosmic 
is  the  sweep  of  her  outlook,  or  else  so  near  to  the  earth, 
that  when  her  desires  are  frustrated  she  feels  the  laws 
of  the  universe  are  frustrated.  I  did  not  make  this  com- 
ment to  Gertrude,  however ;  I  could  only  murmur  an  en- 
treaty for  her  forgiveness  — •  which  she  ignored.  Her 
only  answer  was  a  brief  hard  gesture  of  the  head,  a  sort 
of  jerk  that  expressed  at  once  futility,  contempt  and 
dismissal. 

As  one  dazed  and  paralyzed  I  must  have  made  my  way 
somehow  downstairs,  into  a  street  car  or  some  other 
conveyance  at  Fourth  Avenue  and  into  the  babel  at 
Grand  Central  station.  But  of  this  I  have  no  recollec- 
tion whatsoever.  It  is  a  blank.  I  must  have  walked 
like  a  somnambulist.  I  never  came  to  until  I  left  the 
train  at  Crestlands  about  a  quarter  past  nine,  and  the 
first  thing  I  was  conscious  of  was  the  pain  I  must  have 
inflicted. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

I  CAN  write  this  almost  calmly  now  because  so  much 
has  passed  since  that  dreadful  evening  and  details  begin 
to  emerge  cloudily  from  the  fog  of  that  confusion. 

I  remember  striking  out  homeward  from  the  station 
down  our  drably  progressive  suburban  Main  Street,  fol- 
lowing the  bumping,  grinding,  loitering  trolley  across  the 
little  bridge  over  a  stream  that  sends  up  a  dank,  fishy 
odor,  though  all  the  living  things  I  have  ever  seen  in  its 
neighborhood  were  mosquitoes  and  water  snakes. 

Over  the  rusty  iron  parapet  I  stood  leaning  for  a  few 
minutes  and  the  original  thought  feebly  stirred  my  dazed 
brain  that  life  was  not  so  much  a  dream  —  as  the  Span- 
iard Calderon  would  have  it  —  as  it  is  a  stream.  There 
is  no  knowing  what  it  may  not  bring  upon  its  bosom. 

"  That's  it,"  I  muttered  to  myself  aloud.  "  Life  is  a 
stream  within  a  dream." 

"  That's  about  the  size  of  it,"  gruffly  remarked  a  pass- 
ing laborer  behind  me,  his  dinner  pail  clanking  against 
his  side,  and  he  burst  into  a  hoarse  guffaw. 

I  laughed  too,  and  concluded  that  I  was  still  maudlin 
at  the  end  of  my  perfect  day. 

I  left  the  bridge  and  the  highway,  turned  to  the  right 
and  began  to  climb  the  ill-lighted  crooked  street,  an- 
ciently a  Dutch  cattle  track,  no  doubt,  that  leads  to  my 
isolated  chalet  upon  the  rock. 

With  all  geography,  history,  the  visible  and  invisible 
universe  to  draw  upon,  the  fathers  of  Crestlands  had 
denominated  this  obscure  street  Milwaukee  Avenue. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       201 

Milwaukee  Avenue  put  the  last  touch  to  my  nightmarish 
state.  A  sickly  laugh  escaped  me  as  I  bent  my  back  to 
the  ascent. 

A  young  mounted  policeman,  who  rode  like  another 
Lancelot  by  this  remote  Shalott,  interrupted  his  tune  long 
enough  to  give  me  a  cheery  greeting  and  rode  on  hum- 
ming to  himself. 

The  September  evening  was  mild  and  I  vaguely  pur- 
posed walking  past  my  house  and  strolling  about  for  a 
bit  before  I  went  in.  It  was  early  for  returning  from 
dinner  in  town,  and  I  was  not  overanxious  to  encounter 
anybody.  A  sudden  sense  of  something  eerie  and  awe- 
some came  to  me  as  I  looked  at  that  deeply  shadowed 
cottage.  It  appeared  unfamiliarly  remote,  detached,  and 
I  gazed  upon  it  with  a  weird  sense  of  foreboding  that 
sent  a  slight  shiver  down  my  back.  The  window  shades 
of  the  chalet  were  drawn  with  only  their  rectangular 
lines  of  light  showing  through,  —  light,  I  reflected  bit- 
terly, by  which  Pendleton  was  no  doubt  beguiling  Alicia 
to  desert  my  house  and  follow  him. 

This  thought  lodged  like  a  barb  in  my  heart  and  my 
feet  suddenly  turned  to  lead.  I  could  not  go  on  farther 
and  irresistibly  I  felt  myself  drawn  homeward. 

The  somber  habit  of  my  recent  reflections  urged  me 
with  a  plausibility  strange  and  inexplicable  to  enter  my 
study  by  the  window  instead  of  the  comparatively  public 
door.  The  window  nearly  always  stood  open.  In  case 
of  storm  Griselda  or  Alicia  would  dash  about  the  house 
and  close  the  windows,  beginning  always  with  my  study. 
But  this  day  had  been  clear. 

I  tiptoed  around  through  the  garden  to  the  side  upon 
which  my  study  window  gives.  From  it  the  land  slopes 
away  under  a  covering  of  trees  until  it  reaches  the 
stream. 

There  was  a  light  in  the  study,  though  the  shade  was 


202       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

drawn,  flapping  gently  against  the  rusty  wire  screen. 
This  shade,  as  it  happens,  does  not  quite  fit.  It  is  short 
a  full  half-inch  on  either  side,  so  that  the  peering  ob- 
server can  see  as  much  as  he  pleases  of  what  is  going  on 
in  that  room  when  it  is  lighted. 

Automatically,  without  any  premeditation  that  I  can 
now  recall,  I  gazed  into  my  own  room  like  a  prowling 
thief.  The  picture  I  saw  riveted  me  to  the  spot  with  an 
irresistible  magnetic  force. 

Alicia  was  reclining  on  my  leather  couch,  seemingly 
asleep.  Instinctively  I  knew  that  she  had  decided  to 
wait  up  for  me  and  with  some  book  in  her  hands  had 
nodded  in  her  vigil.  It  was  still  early,  but  Alicia's  day 
began  early  and  was  always  charged  with  activity.  What 
an  exquisite  picture  she  made  as  she  lay  there  in  her  thin 
frock,  with  a  look  of  childlike  trust  and  unconsciousness 
—  radiating  beauty. 

Pendleton,  who  at  that  moment  entered  the  door  of 
the  study,  possibly  to  find  Alicia,  stood  for  a  few  mo- 
ments spellbound  by  the  picture,  even  as  I  stood  outside. 
My  burglarious  entry  was  now  frustrated.  I  must  make 
use  of  the  door.  But  I  could  not  move  from  the 
spot.  Somehow  I  could  not  let  Pendleton  out  of  my 
sight. 

How  dared  he  look  at  her  in  that  manner! 

My  nerves  were  suddenly  tense  and  my  muscles  quiv- 
ering. Strange  unfamiliar  thoughts  of  savage  acts,  of 
sudden  violence,  of  thrusts  and  blows,  of  blood-lust 
seethed  and  bubbled  within  me  like  a  lurid  boiling  pitch. 
The  inhibitions  and  restraints  of  a  lifetime,  however, 
held  me  writhing  as  in  a  vise. 

I  turned  away  for  a  twinkling  as  though  to  gather 
resolution  from  the  murmurous  night. 

On  a  sudden,  as  I  peered  again  eagerly,  I  saw  Pendle- 
ton's  great  hulk  bending  over  her,  with  a  look  peculiar 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       203 

and  intense,  with  a  strange  speculation  in  his  eyes  that 
froze  me.  His  huge  hands  were  spasmodically,  irresisti- 
bly hovering  as  if  to  embrace  her  delicate  unconscious 
shoulders.  Before  I  knew  it  he  was  kissing  her  cheek 
and  it  was  I  —  I  —  who  felt  his  hot  vile  breath  as  though 
Alicia's  face  and  mine  were  one ! 

I  cried  out  in  a  torment  of  fury  and  pain,  but  only 
a  hoarse  distant  sound  as  of  some  night  bird  issued  out 
of  my  parched  constricted  throat 

I  rattled  the  sash  violently,  seized  the  screen  and 
ripped  it  out,  tearing  my  hands  with  the  cheap  twisted 
screen  frame,  though  I  was-  unaware  of  it  then.  The 
thin  opaque  shade  flapped  defiantly  in  my  face.  And 
all  at  once  I  heard  a  piercing  scream  —  the  terrified  voice 
of  Alicia! 

Rage  maddened  me.  And  because  of  my  state,  I  ex- 
perienced difficulty,  this  time  of  all  times,  in  entering 
the  window  out  of  which  normally  I  stepped  with  ease. 
I  stumbled,,  slipped,  fell,  rose  again  and  leaped  into  the 
room  like  a  maniac. 

But  Griselda,  drawn  by  Alicia's  scream,  no  doubt, 
was  already  filling  the  doorway,  facing  Pendleton,  and 
with  a  look  of  concentrated  hatred  that  remains  engraved 
in  my  memory  she  was  saying: 

"  Ye  blackguard !  Ye  vile,  black-hearted  black- 
guard!" 

With  a  wild  leap  to  my  table  I  seized  a  pointed  bronze 
paper  cutter.  I  should  have  plunged  it  into  his  heart, 
but  for  the  swift  intervention  of  the  aged  Griselda. 

"  No ! "  she  cried  huskily,  seizing  the  blade,  "  we 
need  nae  add  murder  to  this !  " 

I  dropped  the  paper  cutter  to  the  floor  and  threw 
myself  at  the  purple  throat  of  the  beast  Pendleton.  For 
a  moment  the  guilty  hang-dog  look  left  his  eyes  and  with 
an  oath  he  thrust  out  his  open  hands  against  my  face 


204       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

to  throw  me  off.  I  was  blinded  by  his  huge  hot  palms 
against  my  eyes  but  I  clung  convulsively  to  his  throat. 
His  hands  spasmodically  closed  about  my  neck;  a  mo- 
mentary blackness  fell  upon  me  but  I  clung,  my  fingers 
eating  more  savagely  into  the  hateful  flesh  of  his  throat. 
The  pent-up  force  of  years  of  hostility  was  that  instant 
in  my  destroying  hands.  He  gurgled  and  gasped  and 
reeled  backward. 

In  the  meanwhile  Alicia,  emerging  from  her  bewild- 
erment and  realizing  the  scene  enacting  itself  with 
lightning-like  rapidity,  gave  a  low  cry  and  sat  up,  moan- 
ing with  terror.  This  vision  of  Alicia  recalled  me  to 
myself.  I  flung  his  head  away  from  me  and  I  myself 
staggered  backward  with  the  force  of  my  effort.  I  was 
breathing  like  a  wrestler  as  I  stood  leaning  with  one  hand 
upon  the  table.  I  could  not  speak. 

My  desire  was  to  fold  Alicia  in  my  arms,  to  press 
her  to  me,  exulting  in  her  safety.  But  I  dared  not  move 
for  fear  I  should  topple  and  fall,  with  the  sheer  working 
of  the  rage  that  was  tearing  me. 

"Go  —  Alicia!"  I  grasped  out  finally.  "Upstairs. 
Leave  us !  "  Dead,  banal  phrases,  when  I  panted  to  pour 
out  endearments! 

With  a  look  of  wild  anxiety  from  Pendleton  to  me, 
like  a  terrified  doe,  Alicia  rose,  stood  for  a  moment 
irresolute,  then  suddenly  throwing  up  her  hands  to  her 
face,  she  ran  out  of  the  room  with  a  piteous  stifled  cry. 

We  stood  for  a  space  silent,  all  three  of  us,  Griselda, 
Pendleton  and  I,  after  the  door  had  closed. 

"  Now,  Pendleton,"  I  said  finally,  when  I  was  a  little 
more  sure  of  my  voice,  "  nothing  you  can  say  will  matter 
in  the  slightest.  We  saw.  Question  is  what  d'you  mean 
to  do?" 

He  glanced  hostilely  toward  Griselda,  She,  interpret^ 
ing  his  look,  flashed  defiantly,  with  arms  akimbo. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       205 

"  Look,  ye  villain,  look  your  fill.  I  will  na  leave  the 
master  alone  with  a  murderer,  the  likes  of  you!  No,  I 
will  na !  "  How  often  I  have  wished  since  then  that  she 
had  not  been  so  zealous. 

"  Talk  about  murder !  "  Pendleton,  with  the  ghost  of  a 
grin,  pointed  at  the  paper  knife  still  clutched  in  Griselda's 
hand. 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  on  my  account,"  I  told 
Griselda  quietly.  "  I  don't  fear  him." 

"  I  will  na  go  away,"  obstinately  retorted  Griselda, 
moving  forward,  pushing  Pendleton  aside  like  a  man,  and 
placing  her  back  against  the  door. 

"  Very  well,  Griselda,"  I  said.  "  I  have  no  secrets 
to  hide  from  you.  And  this  man  has  betrayed  what  he 
can  never  hope  to  hide.  Pendleton,  what  do  you  mean 
to  do?" 

"  Do  —  "  muttered  Pendleton,  with  a  dark  abstraction 
in  his  look,  "  I'd  like  to  tell  you  what  I'd  like  to  do  to 
such  as  you  —  but  it  isn't  worth  while.  This  namby- 
pamby,  mollycoddle,  rotten  doll-life  favors  you.  Do! 
If  I  had  the  money,  I'd  get  so  far  away  I  couldn't  even 
think  of  insects  like  you." 

"  Then  you  realize  you  are  no  more  fit  to  take  Laura's 
children  than  you're  fit  to  live  among  decent  people?" 
He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  with  the  abstraction  merg- 
ing into  cunning  in  his  eye,  and  that  in  turn,  as  though 
cunning  were  of  no  avail,  fading  into  heaviness. 

"  They'll  become  like  you,"  he  finally  answered  with 
the  somber  trace  of  a  sneer.  "  There's  the  oldest  boy  — 
I  wish  —  I'd  make  a  man  of  him."  A  snort  of  derision 
from  Griselda  interrupted. 

'''  You  mean  a  criminal,"  I  put  in,  in  spite  of  myself. 
"  Well,  you  can't,  Pendleton.  Lift  a  finger  and  as 
surely  as  you  sit  there,  I'll  prosecute  you  —  children  or 
no  children.  Don't  forget  I  have  witnesses." 


206       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

He  gazed  at  me  open-mouthed  with  half -defiance, 
half-alarm  on  his  moist  fleshy  countenance. 

"  That's  your  little  scheme,  is  it  ?  "  he  muttered  sar- 
donically. 

"  Only  if  you  drive  me  to  it ! " 

"Blackmail,  eh?" 

I  laughed  at  him.  "  What's  the  use  of  being  melo- 
dramatic, Pendleton?  You  are  hardly  the  one  to  talk 
like  that." 

"  Where's  the  money  Laura  left  ?  "  he  snapped  with 
truculent  sharpness,  and  I  experienced  a  pang  of  pain 
to  hear  her  name  upon  his  lips.  Nevertheless,  I  an- 
swered him  evenly: 

"  That  exists  intact  —  about  nineteen  hundred  dol- 
lars. It's  the  children's,  unless  J  should  need  it  for  their 
education.  I  am  the  executor." 

"  Give  me  a  thousand  of  that ! "  he  crietf  passionately, 
yet  with  a  tentative  uncertainty  in  his  voice,  "  and  I'll 
go  where  I'll  never  see  your  face  again ! " 

"  That's  a  consummation,  Pendleton  —  but  of  that 
not  a  penny !  " 

"  Executor  f "  he  repeated  with  vicious  bitterness  — 
"  with  your  little  laws  and  safeguards.  God !  How  I 
hate  you  all !  God !  To  be  again  where  real  men  are  — 
who  move  —  and  laugh- — and  live!  Peddling  molly- 
coddles—  caged  white  mice!  Damn  you!  I  wish  to 
God  I  had  never  met  any  of  you ! " 

"  You  don't  know  how  often  I  have  wished  that,"  I 
murmured,  but  he  paid  no  heed. 

"  Lord !  I  want  to  be  again  where  the  sun  shines, 
where  a  man  can  take  a  chance!  I  wish  to  God  I  had 
never  met  that  moldy  old  rotten  Dibdin!  I  was  going 
into  the  commission  business1  with  an  Englishman  at 
Osaka  —  or  I  could  have  gone  into  one  of  the  mines  of 
Kuhara  in  Korea  —  copper  —  made  a  fortune !  "  —  he 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       207 

spoke  as  if  he  were  vehemently  thinking  aloud  —  "but 
that  plausible  rotter  Dibdin  came  along  —  dragged  me 
away  — •  and  I  had  a  hankering  for  the  lights  of  Broad- 
way. Broadway!  What  have  I  seen  of  it?  Want  to 
put  me  in  a  cage  —  in  a  flat !  Hell,  man !  Give  me  a 
thousand  dollars  —  and  let  me  —  I'll  pay  it  back !  " 

I  did  not  laugh  at  his  last  words.  His  mention  of 
Dibdin  suddenly  brought  to  my  mind  what  was  like  a 
flash  of  light.  To  be  rid  of  him  was  my  paramount  de- 
sire. Dibdin  —  Dibdin's  check  —  to  be  used  for  the  chil- 
dren! It  lay  yellowing  in  my  pocketbook.  Now  if  ever 
was  the  time.  Never,  I  felt  certain  after  Pendleton's 
confession,  could  I  benefit  the  children  more  with  a  thou- 
sand dollars! 

"  Yes !  "  I  cried  explosively.  "  I  understand  you, 
Pendleton.  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  dollars.  You  don't 
belong  here  —  it  was  a  mistake  bringing  you  —  go 
where  you  came  from  —  where  you'll  be  at  home."  It 
was  only  afterwards  I  recalled  that  he  had  mentioned 
blackmail. 

"  You'll  give  it  to  me?  "  he  exclaimed  avidly,  thrust- 
ing out  his  hand. 

"Yes— I  will!" 

"Now?" 

"  To-morrow  morning."     His  face  fell. 

"  Some  trick  ?    You'll  go  back  on  it."    I  ignored  him. 

"  But  you  can't  sleep  here,"  I  went  OIL  "  I'll  meet  you 
in  town  anywhere  you  say.  No,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll 
do.  I'll  come  with  you  to  town  now,  to-night.  To- 
morrow morning  we'll  settle  it" 

To  be  rid  of  him  —  to  get  him  out  from  under  this 
roof  —  seemed  suddenly  a  great,  a  priceless  boon. 

"  God !  I  could  kiss  you ! "  he  cried  in  derisive  ex- 
ultation. 

"  Go  pack  your  things,"  I  said,  through  the  tumult  in 


208       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

my  brain.  "  I'll  call  a  cab  —  or  better  still,  you  telephone 
Hickson,  Griselda.  I'll  go  and  help  him." 

Pendleton  nodded  with  grim  insolence  and  shouldered 
out  of  the  door. 

"  A  better  night's  work  ye've  never  done  in  your  life," 
flashed  Griselda,  with  a  look  of  approbation  that  pleased 
me  as  much  as  any  praise  I  have  ever  received ;  and  she 
shuffled  out  to  the  telephone. 

For  one  moment  of  silence  I  stood  alone  in  the  middle 
of  my  study,  throbbing  with  a  jumble  of  half- formed 
thoughts  and  racing  flashes  of  ideas  upon  none  of  which 
my  mind  was  able  to  fasten.  But  this  single  fact  finally 
emerged  from  the  welter:  It  was  I,  by  my  own  act, 
who  was  now  sending  the  father  of  Laura's  children  into 
exile.  But  on  the  heels  of  that  came  the  certain  convic- 
tion that  never  had  any  judge  since  justice  was  invented 
made  a  more  accurate  decision.  And  it  seemed  to  me  then 
as  though  something  new  and  massive  and  stubborn  and 
hard  was  born  in  my  bosom  that  solidified  and  tough- 
ened me:  That,  come  sorrow  or  joy,  I  should  be  able 
to  present  a  surer  front  to  their  encounter,  a  greater 
certitude  in  meeting  them.  I  felt  myself  at  last  an  active, 
fashioned  and  tempered  part  of  the  machinery  of  life, 
and  all  my  past  seemed  as  chaff  that  had  been  blown  by 
the  winds  of  circumstance. 

Alicia!  My  heart  cried  out  for  her!  But  I  could 
not  go  to  her  now.  I  must  clean  my  house  for  her  and 
when  next  I  saw  her  it  should  be  in  a  cleared  and  whole- 
some atmosphere  that  no  longer  reeked  of  Pendleton.  I 
made  my  way  to  his  room  and  opened  the  door. 

"Have  you  packing  space  enough?"  I  asked  him 
coldly. 

"  I  could  use  another  suit  case,"  he  muttered. 

"  I'll  give  you  mine,"  I  told  him  and  brought  forth 
my  bag  from  a  closet  in  the  hall.  Whether  Alicia  had 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       209 

heard  any  or  all  of  our  words  I  could  not  tell.     The 
children  were  evidently  sleeping.     I  walked  on  tiptoe. 

"Where  d'you  intend  to  go?"  growled  Pendleton, 
without  looking  at  me. 

"  To  an  hotel,"  I  told  him  curtly  —  "  any  hotel  you 
like." 

"  Go  to  the  Hotel  de  Gink  for  all  I  care,"  he  mut- 
tered and  went  on  with  his  packing. 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  the  children  before  you  go?  " 

I  could  not  forbear  asking  him  that.  He  paused  for 
a  moment  and  straightened  up,  breathing  heavily.  Then 
he  shook  his  head.  "No  —  I  guess  not." 

The  tin  taxicab  was  rattling  at  the  door,  and  Gris- 
elda  came  futilely  to  announce  it. 

"  You'll  hear  from  me  to-morrow  morning  some 
time,"  I  whispered  to  her  quickly,  as  Pendleton,  stooping 
under  his  bags,  lumbered  on  in  front  of  me.  "  Look 
after  Alicia  —  and  the  others." 

"  Ay,"  she  murmured,  "  have  no  fear." 

There  was  a  train,  and  in  the  longest  half-hour  of 
any  journey  we  were  at  the  Manhattan  Hotel.  Ad- 
joining rooms  were  assigned  to  us  with  a  bathroom  be- 
tween. There  had  been  a  sort  of  intoxication  about 
the  entire  business  that  had  carried  me  on  with  a  blind 
nameless  force  as  one  is  carried  in  a  dream.  Once  I 
was  alone  in  the  four  walls  of  the  impersonal  chamber, 
a  sudden  lassitude  fell  upon  me,  followed  by  an  immense 
wave  of  dreariness.  How  somber  and  sinister  was  life, 
full  of  a  drab  and  hidden  tragedy.  Trafficking  with 
Pendleton  —  slaving  at  Visconti's  —  the  dreams  that 
had  been  mine!  And  this  was  the  life  I  was  liv- 
ing. Suppose  in  the  morning  he  should  refuse?  On 
a  sudden  my  door  opened  and  Pendleton's  hatless  head 
appeared. 

"Sure  you  won't  back  out  in  the  morning?" 


210       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

And  again  my  nerves  snapped  back  into  their  steel- 
like  tension. 

"  Not  even  doomsday  morning." 

"  Will  you  have  a  drink  on  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  told  him,  "  but  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  have  one." 

"  I  think  I  will,"  he  said,  and  with  a  malign  gleam 
of  triumph  he  approached  the  telephone  in  my  room. 

"  The  bar ! "  he  demanded,  and  when  the  connection 
was  made  he  added :  "  Two  rye  highs  for  436."  Then 
he  turned  his  face  toward  me  and  grinned. 

"  Now,  Randolph,"  he  began  quite  amicably,  "  why 
keep  me  here  any  longer  than  you  can  help?  " 

"What  d'you  mean?" 

"  This :  It's  only  about  half -past  ten  —  quarter  to 
eleven.  There  is  —  there  must  be  a  train  for  the  West 
round  midnight.  Why  prolong  the  sweet  agony  of  part- 
ing —  why  not  let  me  go  ?  " 

"  Now  ?  You  must  be  crazy !  "  I  exploded  nervously. 
"  How  can  I  get  the  money  for  you  ?  Besides,  there's 
another  thing  —  I  want  you  to  sign  something  —  some- 
thing a  lawyer  must  draw  up  —  a  paper  of  some  sort  — 
so  you  can't  repeat  this  business." 

"  So  that's  it  —  is  it  ?  "  he  nodded  his  heavy  head  up 
and  down,  as  though  thinking  aloud.  "  Well,  put  that 
out  of  your  mind.  I'll  sign  nothing.  Take  me  for  a 
fool?  Here's  your  chance.  Give  me  the  money  now 
and  let  me  go  or  the  deal's  off.  See?  I'm  just  as 
anxious  to  go  as  you're  to  have  me  go.  But  I  wasn't 
born  yesterday.  I'll  sign  no  papers  in  any  damn  lawyer's 
office.  Take  it  or  leave  it.  That's  that !  " 

There  was  something  unspeakably  horrible  to  me  about 
sitting  there  and  chaffering  with  this  man  whose  every 
word  breathed  contamination.  For  a  moment  the 
thought  of  Dibdin  came  to  me.  I  would  call  upon  Dib- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       211 

din  in  this  emergency.  Dibdin  had  hardly  been  n.ear  me 
of  late.  Excepting  for  an  occasional  luncheon  together 
or  a  sporadic  telephone  conversation,  I  had  scarcely  seen 
him.  It  was  as  though  he  dreaded  to  encounter  the  mon- 
ster Pendleton,  whom  in  a  sort  he  had  himself  brought 
into  being,  and  was  only  waiting  until  I  should  be  free 
of  him.  But  somehow  I  could  not  then  call  Dibdin. 
This  was  my  crisis  and  my  mind  revolted  at  dragging 
any  one  else  into  it.  Oddly  enough  it  was  not  the  chil- 
dren that  seemed  to  be  the  barrier,  but  Alicia.  The  pic- 
ture of  Pendleton  obscenely  hovering  over  her  came 
scorching  before  my  vision  and  I  at  once  dismissed  the 
thought  of  calling  upon  Dibdin.  The  club,  —  that  was 
my  one  chance  of  getting  cash  at  that  hour. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  your  club? "  Pendleton 
snapped  me  up  so>  suddenly  that  I  was  startled  Could 
that  fleshy  brute  read  my  thoughts? 

"  Just  what  I  was  thinking  of,"  I  murmured  excitedly 
and  snatched  up  the  telephone.  "  Give  me  9100  Bryant." 

"  Damn  it  — •  you're  a  sport !  I  like  a  dead  game  bird 
like  you." 

When  the  club  answered,  I  asked  whether  Mr.  Fred 
Salmon  happened  to  be  in  and  was  informed  that  the 
doorman  thought  he  was  and  that  he  would  page  him. 
I  sat  waiting  with  the  receiver  to  my  ear. 

"  Tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  Pendleton,  under  the 
stimulus  of  expectation.  "  If  you  pull  this  off  for  me 
so  I  can  start  to-night,  while  the  mood's  on  me,  I'll  sign 
any  damn  thing  you  please." 

"  Hello !  "  I  suddenly  heard  in  Fred  Salmon's  deep 
voice,  "  Salmon  speaking." 

"  Fred,"  I  told  him,  "  this  is  Randolph  Byrd." 

"Hello,  Ranny!"  he  broke  in  exuberantly.  "Well, 
of  all  the  ghosts  —  "  but  I  checked  him. 

"  —  I  want  to  cash  a  check  for  a  thousand  dollars 


212       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

right  now,  Fred.  I  am  at  the  Manhattan  Hotel.  The 
banks  are  closed.  Will  you  do  this  for  me :  Ask  at  the 
office  and  turn  out  your  pockets  and  get  what  you  can 
from  any  of  the  card  players  there  and  anybody  else  you 
know.  Do  you  follow  me?  " 

"  I  get  you  all  right  —  all  right  — • "  said  the  voice  of 
Fred,  hardening  to  a  businesslike  tone  now  that  money 
was  in  question.  "  Hold  the  wire  a  minute,  Ran.  I'll 
see  what  I  can  do." 

Fred's  raucous  voice  was  as  plainly  audible  to  Pendle- 
ton  as  it  was  to  me. 

"  Get  it,"  he  muttered.  "  Get  it  I'd  hate  to  wait  till 
to-morrow." 

I  nodded.  To  be  rid  of  him  to-night  would  be  a  vast 
relief.  And  I  longed  to  return  home. 

"  I  guess  we  can  fix  it  all  right,"  came  Fred's  voice  in 
the  telephone.  "  But  you'd  better  come  over  with  the 
check.  There's  about  six  hundred  dollars  in  the  club  till. 
I  have  a  couple  of  hundred  with  me.  And  we  can  raise 
the  rest." 

Pendleton  heard  him. 

"  Go  ahead,"  he  said.  "  I'll  fix  up  about  a  berth  with 
the  head  porter  in  the  meanwhile." 

"  What's  the  big  idea?  "  was  Fred's  greeting,  as  I  en- 
tered the  club. 

"  Private,"  I  told  him  laconically.  "  Sending  a  man 
to  the  antipodes  because  he's  unfit  to  live  in  this  climate." 

"  Oh  —  sick  man  ?  "  Fred  was  sympathetic. 

"  Very  sick,"  I  told  him.     "  Incurable.". 

Fifteen  minutes  later  I  was  in  the  hotel,  handing  Pen- 
dleton the  money. 

"  Now  what  d'you  want  me  to  sign  ?  "  he  queried  care- 
lessly. 

"  Not  a  thing,"  I  answered.  For  on  a  sudden  the 
futility  of  holding  Pendleton-  to  any  bond  overwhelmed 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       213 

me.  Any  respite,  even  a'  few  weeks  from  his  presence, 
seemed  a  paradise.  Paradise  seemed  cheap  at  a  thousand 
dollars.  And  who  can  safeguard  paradise?  Besides,  if 
I  knew  my  man  at  all,  it  would  bfer  some  time  before  he 
would  return  to  an.  environment  he  so  thoroughly  loathed. 
I  was  no  more  safe  with  his  signature  than  without  — 
and  no  less. 

"  That's  about  all,  then,"  he  said,  and-  he  had  the  de- 
cency not  to  hold  out  his  hand.  "  Good  luck,"  he  added 
in  an  undertone. 

I  made  no  answer  and  turned  my  face  away  from  him 
with  a  wonderful  sense  of  relief. 

No  sooner  had  the  porter  bustled  out  with-  his  things 
and  the  door.  closed,  than  I  looked  toward  my  own  small 
bag  with  the  dominant  thought  of  returning  home.  But 
I  could  not  move.  I  found  myself  shaking  like  a  leaf 
and  I  sank  down  in  the  nearest  chair,  quivering  as  though 
the  vibration  in  my  nerves  would  hurl  my  body  to  pieces. 
No,  I  could  not  go  home  in-  this  state.  And  taking  off 
my  coat  with  hands  that  shook  as  in  a  palsy,  I  threw  my- 
self upon  the  bed.  But  before  I  passed  inta  the  sleep  of 
stupefied  exhaustion'  a  single  insistent  foreboding  kept 
dully  throbbing  through  my  brain. 

"  He  will  come  back  —  Pendleton  will  come  back !  " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

EXULTATION  filled  me  when  I  awoke  late  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

Though  I  had  slept  in  my  clothes  and  felt  particularly 
disheveled,  I  stripped  with  the  joy  of  an  athlete  after  a 
victory  and  plunged  into  the  cool  invigorating  bath. 

Pendleton  was  gone !  I  do  not  remember  the  emotions 
of  Sinbad  when  he  had  rid  himself  of  the  Old  Man  of  the 
Sea.  But  his  emotions  must  have  resembled  mine.  My 
heart  sang,  I  sang  myself.  I  was  manumitted.  I  was 
free.  To  my  intimate  journal  may  I  not  say  that  I  felt 
myself  a  man? 

I  had  fought  the  beast  at  Ephesus,  my  pulses  blasphe- 
mously and  jubilantly  informed  me,  and  by  the  Lord,  I 
had  won! 

The  children  were  mine!  Alicia  was  mine!  Would 
that  I  could  bind  them  to  me  with  triple  brass.  But  I 
have  bound  them.  In  ridding  myself  of  Pendleton,  I 
had  made  them  securely  mine.  Suppose  he  should  re- 
turn one  day  ?  They  would  be  grown  —  reared  by  me. 
He  would  be  merely  the  family  skeleton.  What  is  a 
family  without  a  skeleton?  He  was  that  now.  He 
wouldn't  matter.  It  is  human  destiny  to  revolve  about 
the  child,  about  children.  With  the  exception  of  Pen- 
dleton the  outcast  and  Gertrude  the  —  well,  Gertrude  — 
every  one  attained  completeness  only  in  rearing  the  next 
generation.  And  as  I  rubbed  my  body  with  the  coarse 
towel  I  felt  complete! 

As  for  Alicia  —  ah  —  well,  who  was  I  to  expect  from 
life  everything?  At  any  rate  she  was  mine,  now,  even 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       215 

as  the  children  were  mine.  And  the  very  first  thing  I 
would  do  —  oh,  jeweled  inspiration  —  is  to  adopt  her, 
legally  and  formally.  That  thought  suddenly  made  the 
blood  sing  in  my  ears  to  so  delicious  a  tune  that  absurdly, 
ridiculously,  I  began  like  some  pagan  or  satyr  to  dance 
about  the  room.  Mine,  mine,  mine!  I  danced  into  the 
room  in  which  Pendleton  had  not  slept  and  with  crazy 
gestures  made  as  if  to  sweep  his  memory  out  of  the 
garish  window.  I  had  saved  the  children  and  safe- 
guarded Alicia. 

I  felt  I  had  played  the  man.  And  let  no  man  say  he 
has  lived  until  he  has  fought  for  those  he  loves.  Inevi- 
tably my  mind  dwelt  upon  Alicia.  Who  is  that  child? 
What  were  her  beginnings  ?  Did  she  come  out  of  the  sea 
and  chaos  of  life  only  to  vanish  in  some  bitter  poignant 
dream  like  that  of  last  night?  I  only  knew  that  she 
was  mine  now  and  that  I  would  bind  her  to  me  yet  more 
strongly.  I  would  not  ask  for  too  much;  I  would  be 
humbly  grateful.  She  had  come  into- my  life  as  a  divine 
offering  and  I  would  not  question  overmuch.  There  is 
no  other  origin.  I  felt  supremely,  tremulously  content. 
If  only  she  would  abide  and  never  leave  me! 

And  it  occurred  to  me,  as  I  stood  shaving  before  the 
mirror,  that  life  is  a  beleaguered  city,  with  deadly  arrows 
falling  over  the  wall,  and  the  great  enemy,  death,  cer- 
tain to  enter  in  the  end.  But  by  virtue  of  the  love  im- 
planted in  the  human  heart,  one  may  snatch  many  hours 
of  happiness  amid  the  tumult  and  the  shouting  in  the 
winding  ways. 

Over  my  hasty  breakfast  I  recalled  with  a  shock  of 
guilt  that  I  had  not  yet  communicated  with  Griselda. 
But  as  I  was  already  late  I  decided  I  should  call  her  from 
the  office. 

How  swift  is  mischief  to  enter  in  the  thoughts  of  des- 


216       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

perate  men  I  discovered  bitterly  only  a  few  minutes  later. 

For  the  first  word  I  received  upon  entering  Visconti's 
was  that  Griselda  had  called  me  repeatedly  and  Griselda's 
news  chilled  and  numbed  every  fiber  in  my  body. 

Alicia  had  disappeared! 

Pendleton!  That  was  the  thought  that  seared  my 
brain. 

"  You  — •.  don't  think  "  —  I  stammered  brokenly  to 
Griselda,  "that  she  — that  Pendleton  —  " 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  was  her  reply.  "  But  —  no ! 
It  canna  be  possible.  She  hated  him  —  no!  She  must 
hae  gone  before  ye  left  the  house.  I  looked  into  her 
room  soon  after  and  she  wasna  there.  I  thought  the 
girlie  was  hiding  somewhere  —  or  maybe  she  had  run 
out  into  the  garden  until  the  mischief  should  blow  over. 
I  looked  high  and  low;  I  called  her  in  the  garden.  But 
she  was  nowhere  to  be  found." 

"  Did  she  take  any  things?  "  I  queried  huskily. 

"  A  wee  bundle  —  "  said  Griselda  —  "  night  things 
and  the  like." 

The  shuddering  dismay  of  that  moment  I  shall  never 
forget. 

"  Did  she  talk  with  —  with  him  at  all  during  the 
evening?"  The  words  struggled  out  of  my  parched 
throat  in  spite  of  me,  and  I  should  have  hated  to  see  my 
own  eyes. 

"Ay,"  said  Griselda,  "that  he  did,  the  leper!  All 
the  evening  he  was  wheedling  her  to  come  to  him  with 
the  bairns  when  he  set  up  his  house.  She  was  weeping 
sair  to  me  in  the  kitchen  afterward.  It  was  to  ask  you 
if  you  wanted  her  to  go  that  she  waited  for  you  in  the 
study  —  and  fell  asleep,  the  poor  maidie !  " 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  her?  "  I  all  but  whispered 
into  the  mouthpiece. 

"  I  told  the  lass  not  to  greet,"  shouted  Griselda.     "  I 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       217 

told  her  I  could  nae  believe  it  would  happen.  He  would 
never  take  the  bairns.  And  if  he  did  he  would  nae  keep 
them.  He  was  a  bad  one  —  the  evil  brute !  But  she  was 
frightened,  the  puir  lassie !  " 

"  Very  well,  Griselda,"  I  muttered  stonily.  "  I  must 
think.  I  shall  call  you  a  little  later.  Don't  alarm  the 
others." 

She  hated  him,  had  said  Griselda!  There  was  a 
meager  ray  of  comfort.  But  do  what  I  would,  my 
stunned  mind  continued  to  flutter  heavily  like  a  half- 
scorched  moth  around  the  ugly,  sinister  vision  of  Pen- 
dleton.  Could  he  be  at  the  bottom  of  Alicia's  disappear- 
ance? How  had  he  contrived  the  trick?  If  only  I  had 
gone  to  the  station  with  him!  Was  it  that  that  ac- 
counted for  his  hurry  to  be  gone?  No!  It  was  impos- 
sible. Ought  I  to  start  in  pursuit  at  once?  No,  no,  no! 
I  could  not  believe  it.  It  could  not  be  —  not  of  her  own 
free  will !  Yet  my  heart  was  lacerated  by  the  possibil- 
ity. When  I  lifted  my  head  from  my  bosom,  I  gasped 
in  a  desolation  of  emptiness. 

I  had  stifled  the  prompting  to  call  Dibdin  last  night, 
but  now  I  felt  I  must  find  him.  I  needed  the  solace  and 
advice  of  a  friend.  I  rose  heavily  and  put  on  my  hat. 
Visconti  had  not  yet  come  in. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Visconti,"  I  said  to  Varesi,  my  young  un- 
derstudy, "  that  I  have  been  called  away  suddenly,  on  a 
serious  private  matter.  I  shall  telephone  him  later." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Byrd,"  responded  Varesi,  his  lustrous 
Italian  eyes  flashing  sympathy.  He  thought,  no  doubt, 
from  what  he  must  have  overheard,  that  some  rascal 
had  run  off  with  my  younger  sister  —  a  killing  matter, 
very  possibly,  to  a  properly  constituted  male.  Had  he 
known  the  truth,  his  Latin  mind  would  have  been  shocked 
at  my  seeming  Anglo-Saxon  composure.  Out  of  doors 
I  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  boarded  a  north-bound  elevated 


218       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

train  for  the  eighties,  where  Dibdin  has  his  lodgings, 
near  the  Museum  of  Natural  History. 

I  found  Dibdin  not  at  his  lodging  but  at  the  Museum, 
directing  the  rearrangement  of  the  Polynesian  section  in 
the  light  of  his  additions  to  it. 

He  turned  one  intense  glance  upon  me  without  speak- 
ing, hurriedly  gave  some  directions  to  the  men  at  work, 
and  led  me  to  an  alcove  where  there  was  a  bench. 

"Now,  let's  hear  —  "  he  said.  "What's  he  been 
doing?  "  He  concluded  at  once  that  Pendleton  was  at 
the  bottom  of  whatever  wild  appearance  I  must  have 
presented. 

Briefly,  but  without  omitting  any  essential  detail,  I 
gave  him  an  account  of  all  that  had  happened  the  prev- 
ious evening,  including  Griselda's  announcement  of  the 
morning. 

"  And  you  think  he  enticed  her  to  go  off  with  him  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  Well  —  what  do  you  think?  "  I  queried. 

"I   think  no,"   said  Dibdin.     "What  does   Griselda 


say 


"  She  says  Alicia  hated  him." 

"  Then  take  her  word  for  it !  "  snapped  Dibdin.  "  But 
why  the  devil  didn't  you  call  me  last  night  from  the 
Manhattan  ?  "  he  turned  upon  me  angrily. 

"  Why  didn't  I  ?  "  I  murmured.  "  Maybe  it's  because 
you've  done  enough  —  maybe  it's  because  there  are  some 
things  a  man  wants  to  do  without  assistance." 

Dibdin  glanced  at  me  sharply  and  gave  a  low  whistle. 

"  Oh,  that's  it  — < "  he  muttered  —  "I  see,"  and  he 
looked  away. 

I  am  certain  that  at  that  moment  Dibdin  read  my 
secret.  For  his  expression  swiftly  changed.  He  grew 
suddenly  warm  and  friendly,  more  than  his  usual  self. 

"  A  fine  job  you  did  there,  Randolph,"  he  cried,  clap- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       219 

ping  my  shoulder;  "an  excellent  piece  of  work.  I  cer- 
tainly admire  your  technique.  As  for  Alicia  —  she 
didn't  go  with  him  —  of  that  I  feel  sure !  "  I  could  have 
groveled  before  him  in  gratitude  for  those  words. 

"  But  where  do  you  suppose  she*  is  ?  "  I  could  not  help 
eagerly  asking.  There  was  a  gleam  of  amusement 
mingled  with  the  sympathy  in  his  eyes. 

"  Not  very  far,  I  imagine.  We'll  find  her.  Have  no 
fear.  Young  girls  are  funny  things.  The  instinct  of 
sacrifice  and  the  instinct  of  independence  are  always 
struggling  in  a  woman  like  the  twins  in  Rebekah's 
womb.  When  they're  young  it  hits  them  very  hard. 
Some  notion  like  that  must  have  swamped  Alicia  — 
sacrifice  —  earn  her  own  living  —  ceasing  to  be  a  source 
of  trouble  —  who  knows  ?  They  don't  think  when  they're 
young  —  or  even  when  they're  old.  They  feel.  We'll 
find  her  —  but  we've  got  to  think.  Pull  yourself  to- 
gether, old  man." 

"  How,"  I  asked  in  stupefaction,  "  do  you  come  to 
know  all  that  about  women  ?  "  And  my  heart  felt  per- 
ceptibly lightened  at  his  words. 

"  Oh,  I've  been  studying  them  all  my  life,"  he  laughed. 
"  Never  having  had  one  of  my  own,  I've  been  watching 
and  thinking  about  the  whole  sex  all  over  the  earth. 
We'll  find  her.  Have  you  communicated  with  the 
police  ?  " 

At  the  word  "  police,"  my  heart  turned  leaden  again. 

"The  —  p-police!"  I  stammered  aghast.  "Invoke 
the  publicity  that  means?  —  Horrible!  "  A  shudder  ran 
down  my  back. 

"  Right  again !  "  cried  Dibdin,  nudging  me.  "  Young 
man,  you  have  an  appreciation!  Quite  useless  —  the 
police.  But  you  still  —  have  a  suspicion  of  Pendleton, 
haven't  you?"  I  found  myself  wishing  that  even  the 
best  of  men  weren't  so  ready  to  imagine  themselves 


220       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

amateur  detectives.  The  very  core  of  my  heart  of  hearts, 
Alicia,  had  disappeared,  and  I  wanted  swift  concrete  help, 
not  speculative  questions. 

I  admitted  that  I  had  a  lingering  suspicion  of  Pendle- 
ton. 

"  Then,  this  is  what  we  do,"  Dibdin  rubbed  his  fore- 
head as  over  a  problem  in  chess.  "  We  see  a  private  de- 
tective agency  here  and  acquaint  them  with  the  facts. 
Have  them  pick  up  Pendleton  on  the  way  —  he  hasn't 
reached  Chicago  yet,  you  know  —  and  see  if  he's  trav- 
eling alone.  If  he  is,  let  him  go  on  his  way.  If  not  — 
then,  a  description  of  the  girl  —  you  understand  —  " 

A  livid  fury  possessed  me  suddenly  as  I  saw  the  all 
too  vivid  picture  that  Dibdin  had  evoked  and  was  now 
trying  to  believe. 

"  No,  no!  "  I  cried.  "  I  am  going  myself.  I  dare  not 
—  I  cannot  trust  anybody  else  to  do  this.  You  don't 
know  —  you  can't  understand  —  " 

"  I  know  only  too  damned  well,"  growled  Dibdin 
staring  at  me  quizzically.  "  But  I  am  trying  to  show  you 
sense  —  difficult,  I  admit,  to  one  in  your  condition. 
However,  I  must  try  again,"  he  went  on  with  the  patience 
of  resignation. 

"  You  are  only  one  man  —  don't  you  see  ?  A  detec- 
tive agency  is  an  organization  of  many  men  in  different 
places  who  can  concentrate  on  the  same  job  simultane- 
ously. At  this  minute  they  would  know  on  which  train 
he  might  be  traveling  and  some  one  or  several  could  al- 
ready be  watching  for  his  arrival.  Suppose  they  miss 
him.  There  are  many  hotels  in  Chicago  —  there  are 
many  trains  leaving  for  the  coast  —  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  breathed  brokenly.    "  Then  it's  useless." 

"  Far  from  it,"  he  laughed.    "  Come  with  me." 

Less  than  an  hour  later  we  were  at  the  Mahoney  De- 
tective Agency  and  a  suave  young  Irishman  was  listen- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       221 

ing  without  emotion  or  eagerness  to  my  story  supple- 
mented by  Dibdin's  interpolations.  He  seemed  to  care 
little  for  what  concerned  me  most,  but  he  was  keen  for 
personal  details  of  Pendleton's  appearance,  height,  build, 
clothes,  lettering  on  his  luggage  and  so  on. 

When  it  came  to  giving*,  a  detailed  description  of 
Alicia,  my  confusion  was  so  pitiful  that  even  the  young 
detective  glanced  at  me  only  once  and  then,  like  the  gen- 
tleman he  was,  looked  sedulously  down  upon  the  paper 
before  him. 

"  Sixteen  —  in  her  seventeenth  year !  "  he  murmured 
in  astonishment. 

"  But  she  is  an  unusual  girl  — •  well  grown  for  her 
age,"  I  caught  him  up. 

"  I  see,"  he  murmured  gravely.  "  What's  the  color  of 
her  hair?" 

I  went  on  as  best  I  could  with  the  description. 
"  I  could  save  you  money,"  he  smiled  blandly,  "  by 
telling  you  that  the  girl  is  not  with  him  —  "  and  I  could 
have  wrung  his  hand  like  a  brother's.  "  But,"  he  added, 
"  it  won't  cost  much  to  pick  him  up.  I'll  have  news  for 
you  to-morrow  this  time,  I'm  thinking."  .. 

As  I  sat  down  to  lunch  with  Dibdin  at  his  club,  though 
in  truth  nothing  was  farther  from  my  cravings  than 
food,  he  suddenly  burst  forth  into  hearty  laughter. 

"  So  it's  my  thousand  you  gave  Pendleton  ? "  he 
chuckled.  "  That  was  sheer  inspiration,  Randolph  — 
sheer,  unadulterated  genius!  If  you  weren't  so  lugubri- 
ous just  now,  I  could  accuse  you  of  a  high  ironic  sense 
of  humor  that  only  a  great  man  would  be  capable  of !  " 

How  terrible  were  the  next  twenty- four  hours,  in  spite 
of  Dibdin's  companionship  and  his  efforts  to  cheer  me, 
no  one  will  ever  know.  No  funeral  could  possibly  have 
darkened  my  household  to  such  an  extent.  I  dreaded  to 
be  seen  by  the  children,  who  walked  about  like  wraiths 


222       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

under  the  sense  of  tragedy.  I  dreaded  to  tell  them  lies 
and  yet  I  could  not  tell  them  the  truth.  Finally  I  felt  1 
must  say  something  to  Laura  and  Randolph. 

The  departure  of  their  father  they  received  without 
the  least  surprise.  Randolph  inquired  where  he  had 
gone,  but  this,  I  answered,  I  could  not  tell  him,  save  that 
he  had  gone  West.  But  the  absence  of  Alicia  left  them 
puzzled  and  strained  and  awed.  Alicia's  disappearance 
shook  them  almost  as  it  had  shaken-  me. 

"  When  will  she  be  back  ?  "  demanded  Randolph. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,"  I  answered  miserably,  "  soon, 
I  hope." 

The  following  morning  I  gave  up  all  thought  of  going 
to  the  office.  If  my  mysterious  truancy  should  cost  me 
my  job,  then  it  must  be  so.  I  hovered  in  the  region  of 
the  telephone.  Again  and  again.  I  was  about  to  call  up 
Mahoney's,  but  I  forebore.  Finally,  toward  noon,  I 
could  wait  no  longer.  When  the  connection,  was  made, 
I  gave  my  name  and  asked  for  the  young  man  who  had 
charge  of  my  case. 

"  Was  just  going  to  call  you,"  was  the  bland  apolo- 
getic answer.  "  Your  man  is  at  the  La  Salle  Hotel, 
going  out  on  the  Santa  Fe  to-night.  He  is  alone  and 
arrived  alone  last  night.  We'll  see  whether  he  starts 
alone  to-night." 

Then,  of  course,  I  cursed  myself  for  my  folly  in  think- 
ing that  it  might  be  otherwise  and  realized  that  I  had 
really  thought  nothing  of  the  sort. 

But  where  in  the  meanwhile  was  Alicia? 

I  had  believed  myself  by  now  schooled  to  emergencies, 
but  here  was  an  emergency  that  left  me  dazed  and  help- 
less. I  had  fondly  thought  myself  a  match  for  life,  but 
life  was  crushing  me  with  pain  like  a  blind  force. 

I  leaped  up  suddenly  and  wandered  about  the  house 
and  the  garden  like  a  dog  searching  miserably  for  a  de- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       223 

parted  loved  one.  There  was  the  stream  —  but  I  turned 
from  it  shivering.  No  —  that  was  impossible!  The 
sense  of  life  in  Alicia,  her  vitality,  was  too  potent,  too 
radiant  to  suffer  extinction.  I  looked  up  at  my  little 
nest  from  the  edge  of  the  muddy  stream,  that  frail  eyrie 
upon  the  rock  that  I  had  felt  so  nestling,  secure ;  barred 
by  the  trunks  of  intervening  trees,  it  now  seemed  a 
prison.  A  faint  breeze  that  was  stirring  the  leaves  made 
them  murmurous  with  secret  things  which  my  heart  cried 
out  to  interpret.  Was  it  a  litany,  a  dirge,  or  a  whisper 
of  hope?  I  could  not  read  the  riddle,  but  my  bruised 
spirit  was  passionately  clinging  to  hope. 

Dibdin  pretended  not  to  observe  my  vagaries ;  when  I 
returned  I  found  him  absorbed  in  Epictetus. 

"  This  is  rather  good,"  he  growled,  pointing  to  a  pas- 
sage and  puffing  his  pipe  as  he  spoke : 

"  Have  you  not  received  facilities  by  which  you  may 
support  any  event?  Have  you  not  received  a  manly 
soul  ?  Have  you  not  received  patience  ?  " 

''  Yes,"  I  muttered  dejectedly,  "  all  very  well,  but 
Epictetus  never  lost  Alicia." 

Dibdin  laughed  shortly.  "  Now,"  he  said,  "  we  must 
start  out  to  find  her.  Though  my  feeling  is  she'll  come 
back  of  her  own  accord  very  soon.  The  girl  was  fright- 
ened—  no  more." 

I  ignored  the  last  part  of  his  speech  but  leaped  at  the 
first. 

"  How  would  you  start  ?  "  I  queried  sharply. 

"  What  is  the  high-sounding  name  of  that  institution 
where  she  was  brought  up?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  them,  for  Heaven's  sake,"  I  cried  out 
in  alarm.  "If  she  is  not  there  and  they  learn  I  have 
lost  her,  they'll  never  consent  to  my  adopting  her;  they'll 
consider  me  irresponsible." 

"  Don't  let's  be  fools,"  retorted  Dibdin.    "  Those  peo- 


224.       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

pie  are  not.  Do  you  know  how  many  boys,  girls,  men 
and  women  turn  up  'willfully  missing'  every  year?" 
No,  I  didn't  know. 

"  But,  by  George ! "  he  suddenly  clapped  his  forehead 
in'  a  burst  of  inspiration  —  "  Sergeant  Cullum !  Ever 
hear  of  Sergeant  Cullum  ?•"  I  shook  my  head.  "  He 
is  a  policeman  I  kno.w  who  has  a  genius  for  finding  miss- 
ing persons.  It's  positively  a  sixth  sense  with  him.  He's 
a  prodigy — •  has-  traveled  everywhere  —  a  human  blood- 
hound —  he  is  the  man  to  go  to!  " 

"  But  —  the  police !  "  I  stammered. 

"  Yes,  I  know  —  but  we'll  see  whether  we  can  make 
him  take  this  as  a  private  case  —  out  of  hours  —  I'll  find 
him!" 

The  surge  of  hope  to  my  eyes  must  have  told  Dibdin 
better  than  any  words  I  could  have  uttered  what  I  felt 
at  that  instant. 

"  But  first  we'll  call  that  institution,"  he  directed. 
"  You  put  in  a  call  for  the  number  and  I'll  tell  you  what 
to  say." 

"  You  needn't,"  I  decided  after  a  moment's  reflection. 
"  I  know.  I  shall  simply  inquire  about  the  regulations 
governing  adoptions.  I  can  so  word  it  that  if  Alicia  is 
there  they  will  tell  me." 

"  Ah,  now  your  brain  is  functioning  again,"  he  con- 
cluded "  That  being  so,  I  shall  leave  you  and  look  up 
Cullum  at  the  bureau  of  missing  persons." 

Then  I  recalled  that  I  had  met  with  the  phrase  in  news- 
papers. The  fact  that  missing  persons  were  so  numer- 
ous that  a  bureau  of  the  metropolitan  police  was  required 
to  handle  them  cheered  me  more  than  any  other  single 
fact.  It  was  consoling  to  feel  that  even>  in  my  peculiar 
misery  I  had  joined  a  great  multitude  who  suffered  the 
loss  of  loved  ones,  even  as  in  toil  and-  labor  and  poverty 
I  had  merged  into  the  vast  majority. 


When  Dibdin  left  me  I  learned  that  I  might  adopt 
Alicia  without  any  great  obstacles,  if  she  were  willing, 
but  I  was  no  wiser  as  to  her  whereabouts.  The  Home, 
in  the  person  of  the  Matron,  inquired  how  "  she  was 
getting  along."  She  was-  obviously  not  there,  and  I  ex- 
perienced a  misery  of  guilt  as  though  I  had  robbed  the 
world  of  its  dearest  possession  and  then  lost  it. 

Alone  and  bereft  I  sat,  sinking  to  a  mere  pin's  point 
in  my  abasement.  I  had  begun  to  believe  myself  schooled 
in  life,  something  of  a  man  among  men.  But  my  own 
ineffectiveness  was  now  dismally  revealed  to  me.  I  had 
proved  myself  incapable  of  guarding  even  what  was 
dearest  to  me  in  the  world.  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  an 
abyss  from  which  I  now  felt  hopeless  to  scramble  up- 
ward. The  sheer  and  beetling  walls  of  granite  were 
overpoweringly  steep  and  forbidding.  For  the  first  time 
in  long  years,  I  believe  I  mentally  prayed.  I  waited  for 
Dibdin. 

And  then  suddenly,  as  is  the  way  with  me  when  I  am 
at  the  bottom,  my  spirits  bounded  upward.  Alicia  would 
come  back  to  me,  I  felt  in  a  sudden  surge  of  assurance. 
At  that  moment  I  felt  sure  that  she  was  thinking  of  me, 
that  she  was  yearning  to  return.  And  before  I  knew  it, 
I  was  blocking  in  magnificent  plans  for  her  education, 
for  making  a  splendid  woman  of  her,  even  though  she 
already  seemed  perfect,  of  supplementing  nature's  handi- 
work with  all  the  force  that  was  in  me.  I  saw  her  re- 
splendent, a  shining  creature,  the  woman  of  my  dreams ! 
What  a  florid  designer  is  hope! 

But  why  should  she  have  been  taken  from  me  so 
abruptly?  The  vast  mystery  of  life  encompassed  me 
again  like  a  shell,  impenetrable  —  a  carapace  through 
which  nature  must  supply  the  openings  —  and  she  had 
evidently  not  supplied  them.  Would  Dibdin  never  come 
with  his  policeman? 


226       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Books,  for  so  long  my  mainstay  and  support,  were  now 
useless  to  me.  I  turned  over  many  volumes  idly  but  my 
mind  no  longer  reacted  to  that  old  and  magical  alchemy. 
The  volume  of  Epictetus  that  Dibdin  had  fingered  might 
have  been  a  seed  catalogue,  so  remote  it  seemed  and  so 
null.  I  was  now  a  ghost  among  my  books:  I  was 
plunged  in  "  The  Woods  of  Westermain,"  and  my  mem- 
ory flung  me  the  lines: 

Enter  these  enchanted  woods, 

You  who  dare. 

Nothing  harms  beneath  the  leaves 
More  than  waves  a  swimmer  cleaves. 
Toss  your  heart  up  with  the  lark, 
Foot  at  peace  with  mouse  and  worm. 

Fair  you  fare. 
Only  at  a  dread  of  dark 
Quaver,  and  they  quit  their  form ; 
Thousand  eyeballs  under  hoods 

Have  you  by  the  hair. 
Enter  these  enchanted  woods, 

You  who  dare. 

It  was  clear.  I  must  toss  my  heart  up  with  the  lark 
to  fare  fairly,  even  though-  my  pain  was  great. 

Late  that  afternoon;  Dibdin  returned,  bringing  Ser- 
geant Cullum. 

That  excellent  policeman  gave  me  more  hope  than 
any  one,  excepting  my  own  heart,  had  yet  succeeded  in 
doing.  He  insisted  upon-  being  made  privy  to  all  the  cir- 
cumstances, to  which  he  listened,  his  broad  shaven  face 
turned  ceilingward-,  with  the  rapt  air  of  a  mystic,  ex- 
pecting momentarily  that  lightning  flash  of  inspiration 
that  would  reveal  all.  Then  he  asked  to  be  allowed  to 
wander  by  himself  throughout  the  house,  over  which  he 
went  pointing  and  sniffing  like  some  well-trained  hound. 
In  the  end  he  declared  himself  satisfied. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       227 

"  Now  give  me  a  little  time,"  he  said. 

"  But  what  means  —  how  do  you  go  to  work  ?  "  I 
asked,  nettled  that  he  should  see  possibilities  regarding 
Alicia  that  I  had  overlooked. 

"  I  swear,  Mr.  Byrd,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  rev- 
erently. "  I  wait  for  guidance." 

"Guidance?"  I  faltered. 

"Yes  — from  on  high." 

"You  depend  on  that  —  only?" 

"  Only !  —  Well,  yes  and  no.  I  pray,  Mr.  Byrd  —  I 
pray." 

'  You  have  no  other  means  ?  "  I  queried,  with  a  sink- 
ing heart. 

"  What  other  means  are  there,"  he  demanded  with 
glowing  eyes,  "  that  the  Lord  can't  supply  ?  What  de- 
tective in  the  world  can  equal  the  Lord  —  tell  me  that, 
Mr.  Byrd." 

I  saw  that  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  fanatic  and  I 
stood  abashed. 

:e  The  best  man  in  the  Department,"  Dibdin  put  in 
encouragingly.  "  Sergeant  Cullum  is  the  bureau  of  miss- 
ing persons." 

"  Give  me  a  little  time,"  he  urged  again,  with  the  fer- 
vid intensity  of  prayer  —  Time !  And  it  was  Alicia  who 
was  missing! 

I  shook  his  hand  and  gave  him  time  and  parted  from 
him  with  a  hope  that  I  should  not  have  to  wait  for  his 
ecstatic  visions  to  restore  her. 

"  He'll  find  her ! "  Dibdin  exclaimed  reassuringly. 
"  Never  fear.  If  there  is  one  thing  I've  learned,  it's  to 
accept  the  methods  of  people  so  long  as  they  produce  the 
results.  Let  them  use  the  divining  rod  if  they  want  to, 
or  incantations  with  henbane  and  hellebore,  or  trances 
and  visions,  or  prayer.  This  almost  human  race  of  ours 
is  made  up  of  some  very  odd  fish,"  he  added  with  a  laugh, 


228       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

and  he  looked  at  me  quizzically  as  though  I  were  the 

oddest  fish  of  them  all. 

"  But  an  ecstatic  policeman  "  —  I  murmured  — 

"  Yes  —  queer  —  I  know,"  said  Dibdin,  "  but  I  don't 

care.     And  now,  old  boy,  I've  got  to  run  back  to  the 

museum  and  take  a  squint  at  the  work.    Cheer  up." 

I  was  alone  in  my  study  after  a  pretense  of  eating  sup- 
per with  the  children,  when  Jimmie  burst  in  and  flung 
himself  upon  me. 

"  I  want  to  know  where  is  Alicia,"  he  demanded  with 
quivering  lips,  and  he  burst  into  a  pitiful  freshet  of  bit- 
ter weeping.  His  childish  tears  fell  like  scalding  lead 
upon  my  hands  and  I  hugged  the  quivering  small  figure 
to  me  in  an  anguished  embrace, 

"  Don't  you  want  Laura  to  put  you  to  bed  ? "  I  mur- 
mured with  my  lips  against  his  ear. 

"Don't  want  Laura,"  he  sobbed  chokingly;  "want 
Alicia  to  give  me  my  bath  and  put  me  to  bed.  Where 
is  she?  Why  don't  she  come?  " 

It  was  a  cry  that  tore  at  my  heart  as  it  echoed  there 
and  reverberated.  I  hugged  him  closer. 

"  I'll  give  you  your  bath,  Jimmikins,"  I  endeavored  to 
soothe  him,  "  and  we'll  float  ships." 

"  'Licia  —  tells  me  — >  stories !  "  he  sobbed  out,  as  one 
broken  with  tragedy,  and  I  declare  I  came  very  near 
to  joining  him  in  his  grief. 

"  I'll  —  tell  you  a  story  —  Jimraie,"  I  gulped  foolishly, 
"  and  until  Alicia  comes  back  you  must  be  the  fine  little 
man  you  are  —  and  let  me." 

"  When  is  she  coming  back  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,  Jimmie  —  possibly  to-morrow."  It 
was  my  throbbing  hope.  For  that  we  could  go  on  any 
longer  without  her  was  simply  inconceivable  to  me. 

Gradually  his  paroxysm  subsided.     He  grew  quiescent 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       229 

in  my  arms  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh  as  we  nestled  against 
each  other  in  silence.  It  is  fortunate  that  the  grief  of 
children  is  like  a  summer  shower.  For  so  intense  is  it 
while  it  lasts  that  any  serious  continuation  of  agony 
would  rack  their  small  frames  to  pieces. 

"  All  right,  Uncle  Ranny,"  he  murmured  finally. 
"  Will  you  come  in  and  give  me  my  bath  ?  I'll  go  and 
run  it  —  I  know  how,  first  the  hot  and  then  the  cold. 
And  I'll  put  the  ships  in  and  undress.  Then  you  come 
in  and  tell  me  a  long  story  while  I  sail  them."  And  he 
ran  out  of  the  room  in  a  little  whirlwind  of  energy. 

I  sat  bowed  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes  and  then 
heavily  made  my  way  to  the  bathroom. 

"  Is  the  temp'ture  a'right?  "  queried  Jimmie,  with  an 
intense  air  of  responsibility,  his  erect  nude  little  figure 
standing  with  a  ship  under  each  arm,  like  a  symbol  of 
man  adventuring  his  petty  argosies  on  this  storm-beaten 
planet.  I  put  my  hand  judicially  into  the  water.  How 
important  is  the  temperature  of  a  child's  bath!  It  must 
be  neither  too  hot  nor  too  cold,  or  disastrous  results 
might  follow. 

I  began  to  tell  him  an  ancient  story  of  an  island  that 
proved  to  be  a  sleeping  whale,  but  he  was  impatient  of 
that. 

"  'Licia,"  he  informed  me  in  deprecating  protest, 
"tells  me  stories  of  Mowgli  in  the  jungle  —  out  of  the 
*  Jungle  Book.' '  I  endeavored  with  a  heavy  heart  to 
match  Alicia,  and  gradually  I  became  absorbed  in  my 
task  and  in  Jimmie,  so  that  the  darkness  of  life  fell  away 
from  me.  The  water  splashed  and  the  ships  tacked  about 
in  wild  maneuvers,  while  Jimmie  kept  reminding  me 
that  "  he  was  listening,  Uncle  Ranny/' 

The  great  mystics  are  those  who  submerge  their  intel- 
lect and  senses  into  night  so  that  their  souls  emerge  be- 
fore them  like  the  full  moon  out  of  the  blackness.  Every 


230       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

parent,  I  suppose,  must  be  in  part  a  mystic :  for  by  cen- 
tering his  heart  on  little  children  he  discerns  the  pulsating 
irresistible  life  of  the  universe,  the  past  and  the  future, 
alpha  and  omega. 

At  least  Jimmie  was  courteous  enough  to  assure  me, 
when  he  hugged  me  for  the  last  time,  with  sleepy  eyes, 
that  my  tale  was  won'erful.  "  But,  oh,  Uncle  Ranny," 
he  whispered,  "  say  that  Alicia  will  be  back  to-morrow." 

I  kissed  him  but  made  no  promise.  In  the  dining  room 
Laura  and  Randolph  were  sitting  over  their  books,  — 
Laura  grave  with  an  anxious  pucker  in  her  white  fore- 
head and  Randolph  with  dilated,  somewhat  fevered  eyes. 
He  was  obviously  thinking  rather  than  reading.  But  I 
dared  not  enter  into  any  more  discussion  of  Alicia's  ab- 
sence that  evening. 

Only  now  after  many  days  can  I  write  down  the  events 
of  the  day  following  my  last  entry  with  anything  ap- 
proximating composure;  and  even  now  my  fingers  are 
tremulous  as  they  hold  the  pencil. 

I  had  risen  early,  for  my  sleep  had  been  broken  and 
fitful  —  as,  indeed,  how  could  it  have  been  otherwise  ? 

I  was  parched  and  burning  within-  to  act,  to  do  some- 
thing, to  range  the  city,  the  country  —  Good  God,  I 
thought,  can  a  person  like  Alicia  disappear  in  that  way 
like  a  pebble  in  the  sea?  But  my  frenzy  of  thought,  that 
seemed  as  if  it  would  burst  the  poor  narrow  limits  of 
my  skull,  produced  no  definite  idea.  I  lashed  against  the 
bars  of  the  brain  like  a  beast  in  its  cage. 

I  entertained  no  thought  of  going  to  the  office  that 
morning,  but  half  an  hour  after  I  was  up,  that  was  the 
only  thought  that  flooded  my  mind.  There  are  blessings 
in  a  routine  of  daily  labor  that  those  engaged  therein  can 
hardly  understand.  The  treadmill,  I  imagine,  leaves  the 
mule  but  little  time  for  speculation  or  grief  or  any  other 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       231 

emotions.  I  was  that  kind  —  or,  rather  that  mule  let 
loose  —  that  could  find  oblivion  nowhere  better  than  in 
the  treadmill.  For  routine  can  dull  despair. 

It  was  still  half  an  hour  before  breakfast  when  my 
nephew  Randolph  came  clattering  down  the  stairs,  metic- 
ulously dressed,  though  somewhat  wild-eyed.  He  gave 
me  the  impression  of  having  —  he  also  —  slept  badly. 
"  Uncle  Ranny,"  he  approached  me,  "  are  you  going  to 
the  office  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  am.    Why,  Randolph?  " 

"  I'd  like  to  go  in  to  town  with  you  —  and  go  round  — 
look  around." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  boy?  " 

"  Somebody  ought  to  be  looking  for  Alicia  all  the 
time  —  don't  you  think  so,  Uncle  Ranny?  I'd  like  to 
try,"  and  he  looked  away  shamefaced. 

A  boy  in  his  sixteenth  year  can  be  a  considerable  pillar 
in  a  household.  I  had  somehow  overlooked  Randolph  in 
that  role.  Perhaps  I  had  been  inclined  to  treat  Laura's 
children  too  much  as  nestlings  all,  wholly  dependent 
upon  me?  I  experienced  a  thrill  of  pleasurable  surprise 
in  the  boy's  words  and  manner.  He  had  said  no  word 
concerning  his  father,  had  asked  no  disconcerting  ques- 
tions. He  merely  desired  to  help. 

"  But  of  course  there  is  somebody  looking  for  Alicia," 
I  informed  him. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Uncle  Ranny  —  a  policeman !  What 
does  a  policeman  know  about  girls  like  Alicia?  I  —  we 
talked  a  lot,  she  and  I,"  he  stammered.  "  I  have  a  hunch 
I  could  sort  of  tell  what  she'd  think  of  doing  if  she  left 
home.  Let  me  have  a  try  at  it,  Uncle  Ranny,  please. 
It'll  only  be  a  few  nickels  in  carfare." 

"  Certainly,  my  boy,"  I  put  my  arm  about  his  shoul- 
ders. To  frustrate  young  intentions  simply  because  they 
are  young  has  never  appealed  to  me  as  wisdom.  "  Come 


232       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

into  town  with  me  by  all  means.  I  am  certain  Alicia 
will  come  back "  —  he  could  not  know  the  effort  this 
easy  answer  was  costing  me  —  "  but  there  is  no  reason 
why  you  shouldn't  try  to  find  her."  I  had  thrown  off 
any  mask  of  secrecy  with  all  excepting  Jimmie.  Insin- 
cerity is  a  difficult  habit  to  wear. 

"  Thanks,  Uncle  Ranny,"  he  answered  with  sup- 
pressed jubilation,  and  for  the  first  time  in  our  common 
history  I  suddenly  felt  that  I  had  a  companion  in  Ran- 
dolph —  that  he  was  growing  up. 

When  he  left  me  at  the  station,  charged  with  avuncu- 
lar instructions  that  he  was  to  telephone  me  at  various 
times  of  the  day  and  that  he  was  to  lunch  with  me  if 
he  could,  I  had  a  tender  impulse  to  embrace  this  lad, 
Laura's  first-born,  before  all  the  concourse.  But  I  knew 
he  would  be  shamed  to  death  by  such  a  demonstration. 
So  I  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  we  parted  grinning 
to  keep  each  other  in  heart.  I  experienced  a  fleeting  in- 
tuition that  Alicia  would  be  restored  to  us,  but  I  expected 
nothing  at  all  from  Randolph's  romantic  quest  for  her. 

My  heart  went  out  to  the  boy  as  I  saw  him  merge 
and  lose  himself  in  the  crowd;  I  felt  very  tenderly  not 
only  toward  those  of  my  flesh,  but  to  all  young  things 
facing  the  hurly-burly  of  this  oddly  jumbled  sphere. 

I  was  becoming  an  ogler  in  my  old  age.  Every  young 
girl  I  saw  in  the  streets,  in  cars,  at  crossings,  I  scrutinized 
searchingly,  with  painful  leapings  of  the  heart,  when 
any  of  them  in  the  slightest  particular  resembled  Alicia. 
And  the  melancholy  truth  came  to  me  that  you  can  build 
a  life  to  any  design  you  please,  but  only  a  miracle  will 
keep  it  intact. 

Visconti  was  in  the  office  when  I  arrived  and  he  was 
kindness  itself  when  he  saw  my  face. 

"  Caro  ndo!"  he  grasped  my  hand.  "Something 
serious  ?  " 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       238 

"  Some  domestic  trouble  —  a  little  painful,"  I  stam- 
mered, and  he  saw  that  I  did  not  wish  to  speak  of  it. 
And  the  vast  loneliness  of  human  being's  traversing  their 
orbits  on  earth  struck  me  as  I  sat  heavily  down  to  my 
work.  What  did  I  know  of  Visconti  —  or  Visconti  of 
me?  For  ages  I  had  worked  near  him  and  I  knew  he 
trusted  and  had  what  is  called  regard  for  me.  Yet  the 
planets  in  trackless  space  knew  more  of  each  other.  I 
believe  he  knows  that  I  am  a  middle-aged  bachelor  and 
I  know  he  has  a  daughter  who  is  the  apple  of  his  eye  — 
and  he  pays  the  wage  by  which  I  live.  But  what  else 
did  we  know?  He  had  lost  a  deeply  loved  wife  and  re- 
mained a  widower.  My  heart  warmed  to  him  in  a  sud- 
den sympathy.  As  though  reciprocating,  he  came  bus- 
tling to  my  desk  a  minute  later  and  bending  toward  me 
whispered : 

"  Do  not  forget  that  your  time  is  your  own  —  if  your 
demarches  —  private  business  —  do  not  forget!"  I 
thanked  him  but  he  waved  his  pudgy  hand  in  sign  of 
friendly  deprecation  of  formalities. 

.  .  .  com  'e  duro  calle 

Lo  scendere  e  il  salir  per  I'altrui  scale, 

lamented  Dante.  Yes,  hard  is  the  path,  the  going  up  and 
down  other  people's  stairs,  when  you  depend  for  your 
livelihood  upon  them.  But  Visconti  in  his  manner  en- 
deavored to  make  his  "  stairs  "  those  of  a  friend. 

There  was  no  word  from  Randolph  that  morning  and 
my  heart  grew  every  moment  heavier. 

I  seemed  to  require  no  food.  I  straggled  aimlessly 
during  the  noon  hour  through  mean  streets,  from 
Bleecker  Street  to  Abingdon  Square,  in  a  world  of  listless 
women  and  dirty  children,  a  desert,  ghostly  world,  drab 
and  wretched. 

Shuttling  back  and  forth,  all  but  inanimate,  I  passed 


234       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Minot  Blackden's  studio,  but  with  sudden  horror  recoiled 
from  entering.  I  was  driven  about  like  a  leaf.  I  was 
a  shadow  in  a  world  of  shadows. 

Towards  four  o'clock  I  rose  heavily  from  my  desk, 
determined  to  drag  myself  to  police  headquarters  in 
search  of  Sergeant  Cullum.  I  expected  nothing  from 
him,  but,  still,  he  might  utter  a  word  of  hope. 

At  that  moment  my  telephone  rang.     It  was  Randolph ! 

His  voice  was  charged  and  crackling  with  excitement 
and  importance. 

"  Will  you  meet  me  at  Brentano's,  corner  Twenty-sixth 
Street  and  the  Avenue  right  away  ?  " 

"  Why,"  I  said  piteously —  "  tell  me,  in  God's  name  — 
have  you  news  ?  —  what  d'you  mean?  " 

A  swirl  of  hope  and  apprehension  swept  me  like  a  wave 
and  left  me  gasping. 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Ranny,"  was  the  chuckling  reply.  "  I 
have  news  —  she's  —  I  know  where  she  is  —  Come  right 
over!" 

And  without  giving  me  a  chance  to  say  more,  the 
young  devil  hung  up  the  receiver.  I  cursed  the  boy  in 
my  heart  for  being  a  boy  —  for  his  callousness  to  an- 
other's suffering. 

Exactly  how  I  reached  that  corner,  I  cannot  now  re- 
member. I  did  not  walk  and  yet  I  cannot  for  the  life 
of  me  recall  what  manner  of  conveyance  I  used.  So 
much  happened  in  my  mind  during  that  transit  that  ex- 
ternal matters  left  absolutely  no  impression  upon  it.  The 
first  impression  I  do  recall  is  the  shock  of  blank  chagrin 
that  struck  me  like  a  shot  in  the  vitals  when  I  saw  Ran- 
dolph standing  jauntily  alone  at  the  corner,  staring  at 
the  passing  crowd.  Alicia  was  not' with  him. 

Yet  how  important  the  young  rascal  suddenly  seemed 
in  my  eyes.  He  alone  in  all  the  world  had  present 
knowledge  of  her.  I  could  have  fallen  upon  him  and 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       235 

hugged  him  then  and  there  —  and  shamed  him  to  death. 

"  Where  —  where  is  she?  "  I  blurted  out.  "  I  thought 
you  —  tell  me,  in  heaven's  name ! "  and  I  seized  hold  of 
him  fiercely,  as  though  he  were  a  pickpocket  caught  in 
the  act.  He  glanced  at  me  with  humorous  cockiness  and 
laughed.  Then  suddenly  conscious  that  people  were 
staring  at  us,  and  that  a  policeman  was  speculatively 
watching  our  encounter,  he  hastily  put  his  arm  through 
mine  and  drew  me  away. 

"  Come  on,  Uncle  Ranny,  I'll  lead  you  to  where  she 
is." 

"  You  amazing  boy ! "  I  muttered.  "  But  are  you 
really  sure  ?  " 

"  Sure  I'm  sure !  "  he  crowed.  "  I  think  it's  nothing 
to  be  a  detective.  I  believe  I'd  make  a  good  one,"  he 
bragged. 

"  Brag,  you  young  devil,"  I  thought  indulgently,  but 
I  made  no  audible  reply  and  merely  made  him  walk 
faster. 

He  was  leading  me  into  Twenty-ninth  Street  beyond 
Brentano's  and  to  my  amazement  I  found  myself  at  the 
well-remembered  door  of  Andrews'  bookshop. 

"  Here !  "  I  cried  in  stupefaction.  He  nodded,  grin- 
ning as  though  he  expected  an  oration  of  praise  for  his 
acumen  then  and  there.  He  did  not  get  it.  I  rushed  in 
wildly,  like  a  mad  man,  into  those  silent  precincts  where 
so  often  I  had  passed  blissfully  silent  hours.  Who  would 
desire  a  garish  light  in  this  pleasant  temple?  For  a  mo- 
ment I  seemed  to  be  in  utter  darkness. 

"  Kind  of  dark,"  murmured  Randolph,  "  but  I  spotted 
her." 

On  a  sudden  my  dilated  eyes  encountered  two  human 
beings  simultaneously  in  their,  line  of  vision,  Andrews 
was  standing  in  dignity  in  the  middle  of  his  shop  like  a 
monarch  about  to  receive  royalty,  and  behind  him,  at  a 


286       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

desk  in  the  rear,  a  girl  was  bending  over  some  writing, 
an  electric  light  illumining  her  fair  head. 

The  girl  —  yes !  —  It  was  Alicia ! 

I  felt  the  effect  of  a  sharp  blow  over  the  heart  and, 
brushing  the  astonished  Andrews  aside,  I  made  a  crazy 
leap  toward  her. 

"Why,  Mr.  Randolph  Byrd!"  began  Andrews. 
"  Haven't  seen  you  —  " 

"  Alicia !  "  I  cried  out  in  what  sounded  even  in  my  own 
ears  like  a  sob. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Ranny!"  She  jumped  from  her  chair 
with  a  little  scream,  and,  before  I  knew  it,  I  was  pressing 
her  to  my  heart  with  a  quivering  convulsive  joy  that 
choked  all  utterance. 

She  gasped  in  pain,  the  poor  child.  But  when  my  arms 
relaxed,  she  lay  sobbing  happily  against  my  heart. 

Randolph  was  so  scandalized  that  he  sullenly  turned 
his  back  upon  us.  Andrews  was  watching  us  with  dis- 
creet and  sober  interest. 

"  My  dearest  child ! "  I  whispered,  still  in  a  sort  of 
trance  of  ecstasy,  and  Alicia,  with  the  tears  trickling 
down  her  face,  murmured  softly. 

"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  I'm  found !  And  there's  Ran- 
dolph," she  added  with  a  happy  laugh. 

Her  last  words  suddenly  woke  me  out  of  my  trance. 
I  loosed  my  arms  and  stood  for  an  instant  baffled,  uncer- 
tain, shamefaced. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  I  then  brusquely  de- 
manded with  stupid  severity  to  conceal  the  turbulent  emo- 
tions within  me. 

"I  —  oh,  didn't  you  get  my  letter?  "  she  faltered.  "  I 
tried  to  explain  —  I  had  nowhere  to  go  —  "  her  lips  were 
quivering  — "  he  told  me  what  a  burden  I  was  —  I 
seemed  to  be  only  making  a  lot  of  trouble  —  and  I  had 
nowhere  to  go,"  she  wept. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       237 

"He?     Who?     Andrews?"  I  demanded  harshly. 

"No,  no!  —  Mr.  Pendleton,"  she  was  sobbing  again. 

"  Ah,  of  course,  Pendleton."  I  felt  myself  turning 
livid  with  hate  for  the  man  whose  purpose  in  life  seemed 
to  be  to  wreck  my  own, 

"  And  did  Andrews  know  you  were  my  —  my  ward  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Uncle  Ranny,"  and  her  voice  was  like  a 
child's  tired  of  crying.  "  I  meant  to  tell  him  later  — 
after  I  told  you.  He  just  took  me  without  —  anything." 

Glancing  now  toward  Andrews,  I  found  him  discreetly 
standing,  still  in  the  middle  of  his  shop,  but  somehow  he 
had  managed  to  draw  my  scandalized  nephew  into  con- 
versation to  afford  me  the  courtesy  of  a  greater  privacy. 
My  heart  went  out  to  him  in  affection  as  never  before. 

"  Andrews ! "  I  called,  pulling  myself  together  to  a 
semblance  of  dignity.  Andrews  gave  a  nod  to  Randolph 
and  without  any  unseemly  haste  approached  me,  pleas- 
antly smiling. 

"  This  is  my  ward  —  Miss  Alicia  Palmer,"  I  managed 
to  say  with  forced  calmness. 

Andrews  bowed  ceremoniously  as  though  he  were 
meeting  the  owner  of  the  Huth  library  or  Bernard 
Quaritch.  Yet  there  was  a  curious  twinkle  in  his  shrewd 
old  Scotch  eyes. 

"  Like  all  young  women  of  the  present  day,"  I  went 
on,  with  astonishing  glibness  —  that  is  at  its  best  when 
a  man  is  lying  for  a  woman  —  "  she  wanted  to  prove  her 
independence  by  scorning  my  poor  protection,  Andrews 
—  to  earn  her  own  living  —  you  understand,  Andrews  ?  " 

"  Indeed  —  indeed  ?  "  said  Andrews.  "  And  she  can 
earn  it,  too.  Now  I  understand  the  mystery.  She  recog- 
nized a  second  edition  of  '  Paradise  Lost '  at  a  glance. 
Your  training,  Mr.  Byrd  —  your  salary  is  advanced, 
Miss  Palmer." 

Alicia  smiled,  blushing  faintly,  and  in  that  smile  I 


238       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

suddenly  realized  how  much  of(  the  child  still  clung  to 
this  well-grown  young  woman  —  how  much  of  the  child, 
no  doubt,  remains  clinging  to  every  woman.  She  was 
pained,  distraught,  suffering,  yet  she  seemed  to  feel  that 
she  had  done  something  very  courageous  and  dignified. 
And  it  was  to  her  dignity  I  hung  on  with  tenacity,  for 
instinctively  I  recognized  that  this  was  a  turning  point 
in  her  life  —  that  the  woman  was  now  putting  away  the 
child  in  the  cradle  of  the  past. 

"  I  think  I  shall  ask  you  to  release  her,  Andrews."  I 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Some  day  I  shall  ex- 
plain to  you  more  fully.  It's  been  —  but  never  mind 
that.  I  should  like  to  take  my  ward  home  —  with  your 
permission?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  he  affirmed  with  spontaneous 
vehemence.  "  But  come  in  soon,  both  of  you  —  she's  of 
our  stripe,  Mr.  Byrd  —  she  loves  the  good  things !  — 
come  in  both.  I  expect  to  have  some  new  things  from 
Professor  Gurney's  library  that'll  delight  you." 

"  We  shall  indeed,  my  dear  Andrews.  Get  your  hat, 
Alicia."  And  as  she  turned  away  for  her  things,  I  man- 
aged to  murmur  this  much  to  the  kindly  Andrews : 

"  I  shall  never  forget  your  conduct  in  this  matter, 
Andrews — -you're  a  great  bookseller,  but,  man  dear, 
you're  even  a  greater  gentleman !  " 

And  with  as  little  delay  as  possible  we  left  the  shop. 

A  spate  of  questions  boiled  in  my  brain  and  foamed 
up  like  turbulent  waters  backed  by  a  dam.  But  all  at 
once  I  came  to  a  sharp  decision. 

I  knew  enough.  It  was  that  devil  Pendleton  that  had 
filled  her  mind  with  the  thought  that  she  was  a  burden 
until  the  poor  child  was  wild  with  a  frenzy  of  distrac- 
tion. But  he  had  not  been  able  to  trust  to  his  persua- 
sions. Then  there  was  the  scene  of  that  dreadful  evening 
when,  in  her  bewilderment,  she  realized  herself  as  an 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       239 

apple  of  discord,  a  shatterer  of  families.  I  believed  I 
understood  enough. 

"  Where  did  you  sleep,  Alicia  ?  "  I  asked  her  noncha- 
lantly. 

"  I  have  a  little  room  in  Twenty-fourth  Street,"  she 
answered  simply.  "  I  haven't  paid  for  it  yet.  The  land- 
lady wanted  money  in  advance,  but  I  told  her  I  didn't 
have  it,  so  she  let  me  stay,  anyway." 

"  Let  us  go  there,  my  dear,  and  settle  it  now." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  murmured  low. 

"  I've  got  to  hand  it  to  you,  'Licia,  "  broke  out  Ran- 
dolph, emerging  from  his  silence.  "  You're  a  true  sport 
—  for  a  girl ! "  Whereat  we  all  burst  into  happy 
laughter. 

And  for  the  rest  of  our  peregrinations  as  well  as  in 
the  train,  the  lad  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  Alicia  in 
sheer  amazed  admiration.  It  was  as  though  he  were 
seeing  her  for  the  first  time. 


CHAPTER  XX 

HAD  I  time  to  speculate  philosophically,  I  could  ex- 
pend "much  of  it  in  wondering  why  pure  joy  cannot  be 
recorded.  Perhaps  because  we  experience  so  little  of  it. 

Of  sorrow  and  tribulation,  we  strange  creatures  that 
are  men  can  give  a  pretty  fair  account.  From  Job  down 
we  have  excelled  in  it.  But  before  sheer  joy  we  are 
dumb.  I  can  only  repeat  to  myself  the  poor  colorless 
words  that  I  am  happy,  happy,  happy  as  the  day  is  short. 

For  one  brief  space  of  reaction  after  finding  Alicia, 
the  senses  reeled,  the  worn  body  and  mind  swooned  into 
a  sort  of  deliquescence  of  lassitude,  the  eyes  smarted  with 
unshed  meaningless  moisture,  the  overdriven  heart 
throbbed  with  a  vast  supernal  relief,  coextensive  with 
the  universe.  Then,  swiftly,  with  an  almost  audible 
sound,  that  unnerved  brain  slid  into  its  customary  shape 
of  health,  more  wholesomely  joyous  than  ever  before, 
and  all  the  world  was  bathed  in  freshness. 

The  blue  of  the  sky  was  fairer,  the  sunlight  purer, 
and  even  the  poor  suburban  grass  of  Crestlands  autum- 
nally  waning,  glistened  with  the  verdure  and  brightness 
of  a  new  creation.  But  who  can  describe  happiness? 

Pendleton  is  gone,  Alicia  —  the  children  are  here. 

No  eight  words  in  the  language  of  Shakespeare  and 
Milton  have  ever  breathed  to  me  the  same  meaning  as 
those  eight  words.  Yet  what  do  they  signify  on  paper? 

All  Europe  is  in  a  turmoil,  and  the  Germans  have  all 
but  taken  Paris,  yet  this,  I  perceive,  is  my  first  mention 
of  a  vast  catastrophe.  What  tiny  self-absorbed  creatures 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       241 

are  men!  People  are  dying  and  suffering  by  the  thou- 
sands, yet  we  cisatlantians  scan  the  headlines  and  pursue 
our  own  ends  in  the  accustomed  way.  What  though  half 
the  planet  is  in  peril  —  I  have  reconquered  my  home ! 

Why,  I  wonder,  had  I  ever  imagined  myself  to  have 
a  horror  of  home?  A  home  is  a  little  island  of  personal 
love  in  the  vast  impersonal  chaos  of  existence  —  and  pity 
him  or  her  who  never  lands  upon  that  island. 

Of  nights,  occasionally,  I  now  indulge  myself  in  a  fire 
on  the  hearth.  The  wood  that  burns  brightest,  I  note, 
leaves  only  a  little  heap  of  white  ashes.  When  my  eyes 
rest  upon  Alicia,  or  I  see  the  children  flitting  about,  or 
heaf  their  ringing  voices  through  the  house,  I  experience 
a  wonderful  contentment  that  I  am  the  fire  at  which  they 
may  warm  their  hands.  I,  who  once  entertained  fan- 
tastic visions  of  future  greatness,  of  name  and  fame, 
now  feel  content  to  become  a  little  heap  of  white  ashes. 

Sergeant  Cullum,  excellent  man,  journeyed  out  here 
two  days  after  I  had  found  Alicia,  a  day  after  the  legal 
ceremony  of  adoption,  to  apprise  me  that  "  he  believed 
my  ward  to  be  in  Baltimore."  I  was  about  to  burst  into 
uncontrollable  laughter,  but  my  conscience  smote  me  and 
I  was  ashamed.  In  my  vast  relief  I  had  wholly  and  sel- 
fishly forgotten  this  good  man  who  was  still  upon  the 
quest.  What  power  of  divination  or  answer  to  prayer 
had  directed  his  thoughts  to  Baltimore,  I  cannot  imagine. 
But  with  my  contrite  apology  and  thanks  went  a  gift  that 
I  trust  has  soothed  his  ruffled  feelings.  We  parted  in 
friendship.  Oh,  excellent  thaumaturgic  policeman! 

Randolph  burst  into  a  loud  sniffing  laugh  when  I 
told  him  and  Alicia  of  Sergeant  Cullum's  visit  and  the 
Baltimore  "  clew." 

"  Oh,  cops  are  idiots ! "  he  chuckled  arrogantly  and 
looked  toward  Alicia  with  a  haughty  proprietorial  air. 


242       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"They  don't  know  anything!  Didn't  take  me  long  to 
dope  out  where  to  look  for  'Licia,"  he  boasted.  "  I  fig- 
ured it  out  like  this:  'Licia  is  bugs  on  your  old  books. 
She  was  looking  for  a  job  to  earn  her  own  living,  wasn't 
she?"  Alicia  bent  her  head,  still  shamefaced  over  the 
episode.  "  What'd  I  do?  I'm  strong  on  engines. 
Wouldn't  I  go  to  a  place  where  they  make  or  sell  en- 
gines? Well,  with  her  it  was  books.  I  went  around  to 
some  book  places  —  V  then  suddenly  I  had  a  hunch: 
Andrews  —  that  you  and  she  always  jaw  about.  I  looked 
him  up  in  the  'phone  book.  An'  sure  enough,  when  I 
went  round  and  peeped  in  through  the  door,  I  saw 
Alicia  upon  a  ladder  handling  some  of  those  old  books 
there.  I  thought  I'd  go  in  and  call  her  down,  but  then 
I  thought  't  would  surprise  her  more  if  you  and  I  came 
in  on  her  together  — •.  and  I  beat  it  hot-foot  to  a  'phone. 
Cops !  —  They'd  say,  Baltimore  —  South'  America  — 
anything,  so  it  sounds  good !  " 

And  again  his  glance  wholly  appropriated  Alicia.  The 
youngster  seems  to  think  he  invented  her.  But  I  am  full 
of  gratitude  to  that  boy. 

The  closure  of  the  Stock  Exchange  and  the  abrupt 
slowing  up  of  financial  business  has  filtered  like  a  shadow 
even  into  Visconti's  2nd  is  giving  me  some  unhurried 
hours  in  which  to  ponder  the  future. 

How  many  middle-aged  bachelors,  I  wonder,  have  con- 
jured similar  visions,  constructed  the  same  castles  of 
thin  air?  To  educate  Alicia,  to  serve  and  to  love  her 
until  my  love  surrounds  her  so  that  she  cannot  choose  but 
return  it  —  to  create  a  woman  Pygmalion-like  out  of  this 
very  sweet  Galatea  —  what  could  be  more  blissful? 
Alicia  is  now  in  her  teens.  But  suppose  she  were  sweet- 
and-twenty,  could  she  ever  think  with  anything  but  filial 
affection  of  a  man  nearly  twice  her  age  who  stands  to 
her  in  loco  paren-tis? 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       243 

Like  a  lovesick  boy  who  pulls  at  the  faint  intimations 
of  his  mustache  and  searches  the  newspaper  for  cases  of 
marriage  at  seventeen,  I  eagerly  scan  the  prints  and 
cudgel  my  memory  for  such  unions  as  ours  would  be. 
But  the  papers  are  filled  with  war  and  rumors  of  war. 
It  comes  to  me  suddenly  that  a  certain  aged  Senator 
has  not  so  long  ago  married  his  ward,  under  even  a 
greater  disparity  of  ages  —  and  I  am  absurdly  happy. 
I  see  myself  with  Alicia  matured  and  radiant,  ever 
young  —  living  a  life  of  bright  serenity,  calling  endear- 
ing names. 

"  Did  I  hear  it  half  in  a  doze 

Long  since,  I  know  not  where? 
Did  I  dream  it  an  hour  ago, 
When  asleep  in  this   arm-chair?" 

But  this  is  folly.  Tennyson  is  out  of  fashion  and  there 
are  greater  fools  than  old  fools.  I  ask  too  much  of  the 
high'  gods.  Enough  has  already  been  given  to  a  crusty 
bookworm  like  me.  Suppose  I  had  married  Gertrude! 
The  children's  voices  would  never  have  made  music  for 
my  ears.  Nevertheless,  Alicia  shall  have  the  best  edu- 
cation I  can  give  her. 

Visconti  must  be  aging,  I  fear,  for  he  has-  taken  to 
repeating  himself.  He  has  told  me  often  before  that  his 
daughter  Gina  is  the  apple  of  his  eye,  but  during  these 
somewhat  listless  days  in  the  office  in  which  "  extras  " 
figure  largely  and  strategy  is  the  one  indoor  game,  he  has 
been  going  into  more  detail. 

I  dined  at  his  house  last  night  and  to-day  he  asked  me 
again  to  dine  on  Saturday.  I  dislike  refusing  him  and 
I  like  lying  less.  But  I  declined  on  the  plea  of  an  en- 
gagement. 

"  I  always  forget,"  he  returned  with  a  laugh,  "  that 


244       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

a  young  man  is  not  uri  burbero  of  a  widower  like  me  — 
that  a  young  man,  in  short,  has  engagements." 

I  made  some  sort  of  deprecating  noise.  He  talks  as 
though  I  were  twenty-two,  and  I  like  him  for  it. 

"  But  you  see,  amico  mio"  he  went  on  explaining,  "  it 
is  like  this :  Gina,  the  carissima  bambino,  mia,  is  the 
apple  of  my  eye.  And  she  must  be  —  what  do  you 
call  it  —  amused  —  amused,  made  gay,  bright  —  you 
see?" 

I  signified  my  clairvoyance. 

"  She  is  nineteen  —  a  fanciulla  of  nineteen,  she  must 
have  much  —  eh  —  amusement,  not  so?" 

He  is  fond  of  the  Socratic  method  and  I  humored  him. 

"  But  doesn't  she  go  to  parties  —  has  she  no  girl 
friends?" 

"  Ah,  sicurissimo,  sicurissimo.  But  a  girl  —  nineteen 
years  —  it  is  young  men  in  the  house  that  amuse  her, 
eh  ?  "  And  he  slapped  me  on  the  back  and  roared  with 
laughter  of  a  boisterous  heartiness  that  somewhat,  as 
novelists  say,  "  took  me  aback." 

I  have  not  exactly  been  seeing  myself  in  the  guise  of 
a  youth  cut  out  to  amuse  Gina  Visconti. 

"  How  of  Sunday  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  sudden  quizzi- 
cal soberness.  "  Sunday  you  can  come  ?  " 

I  regretted  his  insistence,  but  somewhat  laboredly  I 
explained  that  I  am  weakly  addicted  to  books ;  and  that 
Sunday  was  the  single  day  when  I  could  sit  among  my 
books  and — •" 

"  Ah,  but  of  course !  "  gravely.  He  understood  full 
well  that  I  was  a  student,  a  scholar,  who  outside  office 
hours  pursued  a  higher  life,  and  so  forth. 

I  felt  mawkish  and  mean  but  I  clung  to  my  Sunday. 

"  Monday,  then  —  shall  we  call  it  Monday  ?  "  he 
pressed. 

I  could  not  be  so  churlish  as  to  decline  further.     But 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       245 

I  hardly  knew  why  a  sense  of  uneasiness  stole  into  my 
bosom  after  his  subsequent  words. 

"  The  -fanciulla,"  he  went  on,  thoughtfully  vehement. 
"  She  is  all  I  possess  —  all  in  the  world.  At  my  death 
she  shall  possess  everything  I  have.  She  has  it  now! 
For  whom  then  do  I  work  if  not  for  Gina?  As  for  me, 
I  could  go  back  to  Italy  —  maybe.  I  have  enough.  But 
Gina  —  she  is  American  girl  —  ah !  "  and  he  kissed  his 
finger  tips  with  unction.  "  She  is  fine  American  girl !  " 

Having  said  that,  he  veered  into  talk  about  Belgium, 
Von  Kluck  and  general  strategy. 

But  why  should  he  so  persistently  sing  the  praises  and 
prospects  of  his  daughter  to  me,  a  clerk  in  his  office? 

I  had  a  sudden  impulse  to  go  to  him  and  unbosom  my- 
self on  the  score  of  my  own  bambimi  and  my  own  as- 
pirations for  them  —  but  somehow  I  could  not.  That  is 
an  island  girdled,  not  only  by  ordinary  reticence,  which 
is  with  me  a  vice,  but  by  a  host  of  emotions  like  those 
flames  that  circled  the  sleeping  goddess.  I  am  not  a 
Latin;  I  cannot  bubble  forth  my  inmost  hopes  or  flaunt 
my  heart  upon  my  sleeve. 

Sunday  evening  —  after  a  wonderful  walk  with  Alicia 
through  the  already  waning  woods  of  Westchester. 
There  has  been  a  certain  air  of  gravity  overhanging  her, 
of  contrition  perhaps,  that  stabbed  with  pain.  I  realized 
then  to  what  degree  her  blithe  spirit  and  the  starry 
laughter  of  her  eyes  had  been  the  wine  of  my  recent 
life.  I  could  not  tolerate  her  seeming  depression.  Be- 
sides, there  was  the  matter  of  her  education  to  be  dis- 
cussed. Jimmie  clamored  to  go  with  us,  but  this  time 
even  his  privileged  position  did  not  avail  him.  I  desired 
to  be  alone  with  Alicia. 

Was  it  my  mood,  I  wonder,  or  do  the  woods  in  reality 
begin  to  whisper  a  farewell  in  the  decline  of  the  year? 
Every  tree,  even  to  the  youngest  sapling,  seemed  to  nod 


246       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

to  us  as  we  walked  and  to  rustle  a  murmur  like  the  leave- 
taking  of  a  pilgrim  bent  on  a  lengthy  journey.  I  have 
ever  been  impatient  of  reading  descriptions  of  nature 
and  have  chimed  with  the  scoffers  at  the  pathetic  fallacy. 
Nevertheless,  I  can  bemuse  myself  for  hours  listening  to 
the  wind  among  the  tree  tops  or  gazing  at  the  haze  upon 
the  hills;  and  in  a  slow  measured  rhythm,  as  if  hav- 
ing endless  time  before  them,  they  invariably  spell  a 
message,  —  a  message  infinitely  sad,  but  for  the 
creative  laughing  sun  that  rides  triumphant,  high  over 
all. 

"  Come,  Alicia ! "  I  broke  out  brusquely,  joining  the 
sun  in  his  laughter,  "  we  have  some  bright  things  to  talk 
over.  Don't  let  us  allow  the  woods  to  lull  us.  They 
are  going  to  sleep ;  we  are  not.  Here  you  are*  ready  for 
college.  Isn't  that  soul-stirring?" 

She  emerged  from  her  reverie  as  a  person  shaken  from 
a  drowse  and  smiled  with,  a  distant  look  in  her  eyes. 

"Bright  things,"  she  murmured  pensively;  "every- 
thing that  has  happened  to  me  since  I  came  to  you  has 
been  bright,  and  everything  soul-stirring.  That's  what 
makes  it  so  hard,  Uncle  Ranny  —  I  have  been  so  useless. 
What  good  am  I  ?  " 

I  laughed  uproariously  enough  to  make  the  woods 
shake.  Did  Alicia  know  how  much  I  enjoyed  combating 
such  statements  or  did  she  really  mean  it? 

"You  have  been  —  "  I  wanted  to  tell  her  banteringly 
that  she  had  been  a  burden  and  a  drag  upon  my  house- 
hold, a  weight  not  to  be  borne  —  but  I  perceived  that 
she  was  more  than  serious.  She- was  sad. 

"  Now  you  are,  of  course;  talking  nonsense,"  I  an- 
swered flatly.  "  But  there  is  college  before  you ;  that 
ought  to  cure  all  that.  Perhaps  you're  a  little  morbid. 
Bright  associations  will  change  that." 

"  But  how,"  she  protested,  "  can  you  talk  of  sending 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       247 

me  to  college  —  with  all  the  expense  ?    And  I  so  worth- 
less?" 

"  We  won't  discuss  that,  my  child,"  I  broke  in.  The 
expense  had  indeed  occupied  my  mind  —  but  I  had 
formed  a  plan  for  that.  "  Tell  me  what  you  would  like 
best  to  study  —  to  be?" 

"That's  the  trouble,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  replied  pa- 
thetically. "What  can  I  be?  —  Perhaps  I  might  work 
for  Mr.  Andrews?" 

"  Modern  girls,"  I  informed  her,  "  judging  by  our 
fiction,  invariably  develop  literary,  dramatic  or  histrionic 
talent.  She  must  act,  write  fiction,  or  preferably  plays. 
Journalism  and  settlement  work  are  no  longer  fashion- 
able. If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  they  turn  mili- 
tant suffragists,  but  even  that  is  on  the  wane;  but  the 
two  careers  are  not  incompatible.  Don't  you  feel  th$ 
urge  in  your  young  bones  ?  Which  of  the  arts  is  it  that 
is  calling  you?  The  pen?  The  stage?  Speak,  Alicia  — 
for  this  is  the  critical  hour!" 

She  detected  raillery  in  my  voice  and  laughed  softly. 

"  I  know  you  are  making  fun  of  me,  Uncle  Ranny," 
she  said,  "  but  it's  not  of  me  alone.  All  the  same,  I  wish 
I  did  have  some  talent,  but,  oh,  I  know  I  haven't !  Some- 
times —  I  wish  —  I  think  —  oh,  Uncle  Ranny,  I  am 
ashamed  to  tell  you  what  I  — "  and  without  finishing 
her  sentence  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  I 
noted  that  her  neck  was  suffused  with  a  deep  blush. 

"  But  you  must  tell  me,  my  dear,"  I  gently  took  her 
hands  from  her  face.  "  Haven't  I  just  become  your 
parent  and  guardian  by  ironclad  legal  adoption?  And 
a  terribly  stern  parent  and  guardian  I  am  —  make  no 
mistake  about  that !  " 

"  Well,"  she  gazed  downward  shamefacedly,  still  ex- 
quisitely blushing,  "  I  suppose  I  must,  then.  Sometimes 
I  think,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  went  on  with  deliberate  firm- 


248       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

ness,  "  that  there  is  one  thing  girls  always  think  of,  but 
never  talk  about  —  that  is  more  important  than  any  of 
the  others.  Oh,  I  suppose  I  am  terribly  improper  and 
immodest,  but  if  I  am,  it's  because  —  I  don't  know  any 
better  —  so  you'll  have  to  forgive  me.  But,  oh,  I  sup- 
pose —  he'll  come  some  day  and  —  to  —  to  make  a  home 
and  —  and  to  bring  up  children  seems  —  more  wonder- 
ful than  anything  else!  You've  made  me  say  it,  Uncle 
Ranny !  "  she  turned  away  with  tears  of  vexation  —  "I 
suppose  I  am  horrid  —  but  you've  made  me  tell  you  and 
I  told  you.  Can't  a  girl  study  to  be  —  for  that  —  as  for 
anything  else  ?  "  And  still  tormented  by  her  brazen  im- 
modesty, she  plucked  yellowing  leaves  agitatedly  and 
scattered  them  to  the  winnowing  breeze. 

As  she  was  turned  from  me,  she  could  not  have  seen 
my  arms  going  out  suddenly  as  if  to  take  her,  and  then 
falling  again  to  my  sides.  I  longed  to  embrace  her  and 
to  crown  her  with  all  the  glory  of  womanhood.  But 
my  conscience  warned  me  away.  In  my  heart,  however, 
happiness  leaped  up  like  the  lark  I  have  never  seen  and 
warbled  joyously  a  divine  melody  that  I  had  never  heard. 
It  required  courage  for  Alicia,  a  young  girl,  to  confess 
what  she  had  confessed.  And  courage  joined  to  all  the 
other  qualities  I  knew  her  possessed  of  must  produce  the 
best  that  is  in  womanhood. 

It  is  a  commentary  on  our  times  that  Alicia,  a  girl 
ready  for  college,  was  ashamed  of  what  she  had  told  me ! 

I  was  a  fool  to  press  her  further,  I  suppose,  but  then 
and  there  I  determined  to  be  at  least  as  brave  as  was 
Alicia. 

"  Have  you,"  I  asked,  hoping  my  voice  was  not  shak- 
ing, "  have  you  already  some  one  in  mind  ?  "  She  shook 
her  head  vehemently,  still  plucking  at  the  leaves,  ( I  could 
not  repress  a  profound  sigh.  "  What  does  he  look  like  in 
your  mind's  eye,  Alicia?  What  is  your  vision  of  him?  " 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       249 

I  knew  I  was  courting  pain,  but  there  are  moments  when 
even  torture  is  irresistible. 

"  I  hope  he  will  be  strong  —  and  fine  —  and  manly," 
she  murmured  as  if  to  herself  —  "  and  have  at  least  some 
of  your  —  goodness,  Uncle  Ranny."  Every  attribute  of 
that  hypothetical  "  he  "  was  a  reproach  to  my  infirmities 
—  a  blow  at  my  peculiar  weaknesses.  But  I  had  invited 
it.  The  ideal  of  a  girl  never  errs.  It  is  her  emotions  that 
may  lead  her  astray.  Oh,  yes  —  she  credited  me  with 
some  "  goodness."  Few  are  the  women,  however,  who 
choose  a  man  for  his  goodness.  In  my  quality  of  "  Uncle 
Ranny  "  I  was  "  good."  I  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence, 
writhing  with  anguish,  alternately  conjuring  up  and  ban- 
ishing the  hatefully  magnificent  creature  of  Alicia's 
dreams.  But  at  last  I  gripped  my  soul  with  sudden  reso- 
lution. Now  at  least  she  was  mine;  and  I  must  accus- 
tom myself  to  the  idea  of  her  being  some  one  else's  at 
the  earliest  moment  —  to  the  inevitable  renunciation. 
She  had  innocently  and  adorably  honored  me  with  her 
greatest  confidence:  For  the  present,  at  least,  I  must 
make  the  most  of  my  little  happiness. 

"  Come,  dear,"  I  gently  touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 
"  You  have  told  me  what  I  wanted  to  know."  I  put 
her  hand  through  my  arm  and  we  strolled  on  slowly. 
"  We  are  horrible  old  fogies,  Alicia,  and  we  mustn't  tell 
a  soul  about  our  views  —  or  we  should  be  ostracized  and 
possibly  jailed.  But  nothing  you  could  have  said  would 
have  made  me  happier  than  what  you  have  just  told  me. 
I  know  of  no  greater  career  than  the  one  you  have  chosen. 
And  college,  much  or  little  as  you  like  of  it,  can  serve 
you  for  a  finer  womanhood  no  less  than  it  can  for  any- 
thing else.  In  fact,  more,  I  think."  From  still  swim- 
ming eyes  she  gave  me  a  sidelong  glance  mingled  so  much 
of  gratitude,  shame  and  pride,  that  I  laughed  aloud. 

"  There  is  one  thing  you've  got  to  make  up  your  mind 


250       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

to,  Alicia."  I  drew  her  close  to  my  side.  "  You  must 
come  and  tell  me  everything  that's  on  your  mind  without 
repression.  Don't  forget,  my  dear,  that  I  am  your  father, 
mother  and  most  intimate  friends.  Think  how  sorry 
we  should  both  have  been  if  you  had  suppressed  and 
hidden  what  you  have  told  me." 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  breathed  and  very  sweetly 
in  a  way  to  melt  the  heart  of  a  man,  she  lifted  my  hand 
to  her  lips  and  kissed  it.  I  was  irreparably  "  Uncle 
Ranny!" 

I  dared  not  make  a  movement  in  return.  At  that 
moment  I  might  have  betrayed  more  than  ever  again  I 
could  hide.  But  the  woods  were  now  of  another  hue; 
the  invisible  lark  was  still  singing,  albeit  a  sadder  strain. 

We  decided  that  Alicia  is  to  enter  Barnard  next  week 
and  commute  with  me  on  the  daily  train. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

DEAR  God !  How  I  cry  out  for  peace,  and  there  is  no 
peace! 

Who  would  have  looked  for  disaster  at  the  plump 
hands  of  Gina  Visconti?  Yet,  as  though  she  had  will- 
fully shut  the  door  of  my  livelihood  in  my  face,  that 
innocent  girl  has  abruptly  cut  me  off. 

I  cannot  go  back  to  Visconti's.  That  accursed  dinner, 
which  instinct  made  me  shun,  was  the  cause  and  occa- 
sion of  it  all. 

I  had  begun  foolishly  to  feel  myself  at  home  in  the 
Visconti  household.  When  the  housemaid  informed 
me  that  the  signorina  would  be  down  directly,  I  strolled 
into  the  drawing-room  leisurely,  not  in  the  least  sur- 
prised that  I  was  apparently  the  only  guest,  and  gazed 
again  at  the  shining  new  furniture,  costly  and  glisten- 
ing, for  the  nth  time  wondering  how  it  continued  to  stay 
so  new.  There  is  a  scattering  of  saccharine  pictures  on 
the  walls  that  invariably  make  me  smile:  Cherry  Ripe, 
the  Old  Oaken  Bucket,  Sweet  Sixteen ;  a  glittering  small 
marble  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  and  a  crayon  enlargement 
of  the  very  stout  lady  that  was  Gina's  mother.  Why, 
I  wondered,  do  not  modern  Italians  stick  to  their  own 
old  masters?  I  once  bought  a  very  fair  copy  of  Pope 
Julian  II  in  Florence  for  fifty  lire.  Even  Gina's  ener- 
getic modernism,  however,  seemed  unable  to  exorcise  the 
peculiar  airless  odor  of  an  Italian's  drawing-room,  due 
largely,  I  suppose,  to  hermetically  sealed  windows  and 
constantly  lowered  shades. 


252       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Gina  came  down  directly,  as  had  been  promised,  in  a 
very  pretty  satin  evening  frock  that  struck  me  as  too 
light  for  a  girl  as  full-bodied  as  she.  That  is  a  detail, 
however,  which  was  superseded  in  my  mind  by  the  query 
as  to  why  she  should  feel  it  necessary  to  romp  into  a 
room  rather  than  walk.  But  I  know  she  aspires  to  be 
hyper-American.  Her  greeting  is  always  warm  and  her 
energy  was  the  one  touch  of  ozone  in  that  stuffy  draw- 
ing-room. A  moment  later  entered  her  father,  his  dark- 
red  face  pardonably  gleaming  like  a  moon  through  the 
haze  at  the  charms  of  his  only  daughter.  For  Gina  is 
not  only  pretty  —  she  is  eminently  modish,  to  the  last 
wave  of  her  rich  black  hair. 

"  Is  she  a  fine  American  girl  —  or  is  she  not,  eh  ?  " 
Visconti's  half-proud,  half-defiant  look  seems  to  chal- 
lenge all  present. 

The  dinner  was  more  than  usually  exuberant  with  a 
wealth  of  champagne  for  so  small  a  company  and  hot- 
house grapes ;  indeed  the  exuberance  itself  seemed  of  the 
hothouse  variety.  We  jested,  we  laughed  at  nothing,  we 
were  gay  as  old  friends  at  a  reunion.  At  the  Visconti's 
I  am  always  foolishly  like  that  Byron-worshiping  lady 
who  could  not  long  abstain  from  referring  to  Misso- 
longhi.  Somehow  I  find  myself  caressingly  touching  the 
subjects  of  Dante  or  Petrarch  or  even  Leopardi,  and 
invariably  Gina  caroms  against  me  with  a  thrilling  cab- 
aret, a  new  dance  or  the  latest  "  show "  —  and  I  am 
nowhere. 

After  the  coffee  Visconti,  whose  mind  seemed  preoc- 
cupied, rose  abruptly  and  with  one  of  his  gleaming  smiles 
left  us  on  the  hackneyed  plea  of  letters  to  be  written. 

Gina  was  restless  for  a  minute  or  two  after  her 
father's  departure.  She  walked  over  to  the  piano,  struck 
a  chord  standing,  then  suddenly  sheered  to  the  phono- 
graph and  asked  would  I  dance  if  she  turned  on  a  lovely 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       253 

fox  trot.  Apologetically  I  was  compelled  to  inform  her 
that  the  fox  trot  was  as  foreign  to  my  accomplishments 
as  an  act  on  the  trapeze. 

"  I  know  you  could  learn  to  be  a  lovely  dancer,"  said 
Gina.  She  then  sat  down  beside  me  on  the  expensive 
tapestry  davenport,  with  one  foot  under  her  and  one 
ankle  to  the  wide  world  and  leaned  forward  on  her 
elbows  so  that  the  slender  shoulder  straps  of  her  frock 
pressed  upward  four  little  mounds  of  pink  flesh  toward 
her  ears.  She  has  very  pretty  ears,  has  Gina.  A  very- 
engaging  child,  I  thought.  Holding  this  soulful  atti- 
tude, Gina  queried  softly, 

"  Don't  you  love  the  movies  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"What  have  you  seen  lately?"  she  pursued. 
"  I  have  only  seen  one  —  it  was  a  series  of  pictures  of 
the  South  Sea  Islands." 

"  You  mean  you've  never  seen  any  others?  " 
"No  — I'm  afraid  not." 

"  Oh,"  she  gasped,  "  I've  loved  the  movies  since  I 
was  that  high  "  —  and  she  pointed  to  a  somewhat  ex- 
cessively oily  portrait  of  herself  painted  at  about  the 
age  of  ten  or  eleven. 

"  I  believe  in  having  a  lively  time,"  she  ran  on. 
"  When  I  was  in  public  school  some  of  them  called  me 
the  '  little  guinea  girl.'  I  cried  terribly  —  but  I  made 
up  my  mind  I  wasn't  going  to  be  a  *  guinea  girl.'  I  was 
going  to  be  an  American.  Wasn't  I  as  good  as  any  of 
them  ?  "  she  demanded  passionately.  "  What  was  the 
matter  with  me?  Then  I  found  out  what  was  the  mat- 
ter with  me  —  American  girls  are  always  having  good 
times.  So  I  thought  I'd  have  as  good  a  time  as  any- 
body. 

"  I  cried  until  my  father  let  me  go  to  the  movies 
nearly  every  afternoon  and  twice  on  Saturday.  And  I 


254       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

always  treated  some  other  girl  —  an  American  girl  —  to 
a  ticket  to  go  with  me.  They  were  friendly  then,  you 
can  bet.  They  stopped  calling  me  a  guinea  girl." 

Gina  could  not  possibly  know  how  pathetic  that 
sounded  to  me.  The  curious  savagery  of  children  toward 
those  alien  of  race,  I  reflected,  is  one  of  the  last  sur- 
vivals of  the  tribal  state  of  mankind.  The  somewhat 
overpowering  scent  she  used  struck  me  as  a  survival  also, 
though  I  could  not  remember  of  what. 

"  There  is  my  cousin,  Jennie  —  her  name  is  really 
Gemma  "  —  the  girl  warmed  to  her  story  —  "  she  tried 
to  be  American,  too,  but  she  gave  it  up.  When  I  went 
to  finishing  school  in  Darien,  she  was  already  married. 
Four  years  she's  been  married  and  has  three  children. 
Now  what's  the  use  of  that?  She  can't  have  a  good 
time  now!  Babies  —  babies.- — babies!  —  she  hardly 
ever  goes  out.  And  her  husband's  quite  well  off,  too. 
He's  a  contractor.  But'  he's  an  Italian  — •  and  thinks 
that's  the  right  way  for  a  girl  to  live.  Uh-h ! "  and  she 
shuddered  slightly.  "  I'm  going  to  marry  an  Ameri- 
can!" 

A  fierce  light  of  resolution  leaped  to  hef  liquid  dark 
eyes  and  I  own  I  felt  terrified. 

"  But  —  but  aren't  you  young  to  think  of  marriage  ?  " 
I  murmured  lamely. 

"  Young !  "  repeated  Gina  ia  surprise.  "  I've  been 
thinking  about  the  kind  of  man  I'm  going  to  marry  since 
I  was  thirteen  years  old !  " 

Obviously  that  was  one  subject  she  had  given  mature 
reflection. 

"  Haven't  you?  "  she  demanded. 

"  No,"  I  laughed,  "  not  as  young  as  that." 

"  Do  you  like  Italian  girls  ?  "  she  leaned  toward  me 
abruptly,  wistfully. 

"  Yes,  indeed !  "  I  answered  her,  laughing.     "  There  is 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       255 

Dante's   Beatrice  —  and    Petrarch's   Laura  —  and   even 
Raphael's  Fornarina  must  have  been  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  those,"  she  cried,  flushing  excit- 
edly. "  I  mean  Italian- American  girls  —  I  love  Ameri- 
can men !  The  man  I'm  going  to  marry  is  —  something 
like  you." 

I  like  simplicity,  and  disingenuousness  in  the  young  — 
or  in  the  old,  for  that  matter  —  but  her  attitude  was  now 
so  —  so  unconventional,  with  her  large  ankle  rocking  to 
and  fro  and  her  bosom,  as  she  leaned  forward,  almost 
touching  my  shirt  front  —  that  I  feared  her  father  might 
be  displeased  were  he  to  enter  the  room  suddenly.  The 
scent,  moreover,  was  clouding  my  wits.  With  my  hand 
to  my  forehead  I  rose  ponderously. 

"  Let  me  see  —  "I  mused  with  heavy  f  acetiousness, 
as  though  cogitating  a  deep  problem,  "  do  I  like  them  ?  " 
I  walked  a  step  or  two  and  faced  her.  "  You  are  the 
only  one  I  know  —  and  I  certainly  like  you,"  I  added 
mildly. 

She  uncoiled  herself,  rose  up  swiftly  and  took  a  step 
in  my  direction.  On  a  sudden  she  stumbled,  gave  a 
little  cry  and  pitched  f  orward,  so  that  I  barely  had  time 
to  catch  her. 

"  Did  you  turn  your  ankle?  " 

"  No  —  yes,"  she  gasped  and  lay  for  a  moment  in  my 
arms  breathing  heavily,  her  bosom  pressing  against  mine. 

"  Let  me  lead  you  —  "I  began. 

"  It's  all  right,"  she  whispered  thickly.  "  Just  let  me 
rest  a  minute."  And  then  that  astonishing  girl  suddenly 
lifted  up  her  hand,  passed  it  lightly  over  my  head  and 
murmured  that  she  loved  the  color  of  my  hair! 

"  It's  light  brown,"  she  explained,  "  not  pitch  black 
like  mine,"  and  then  she  rested  her  head  lightly  on  my 
shoulder.  "And  I  love  your  name — -it's  so  nice  — 
Randolph! " 


256       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Let  me  lead  you,"  I  murmured,  as  though  I  were  the 
helpless  one. 

"Eccol"  I  suddenly  heard  the  voice  of  Visconti 
laughing  behind  me,  and  Gina's  hand  clutched  my  .shoul- 
der convulsively.  I  confess  that  at  my  heart  was  a  clutch 
of  sheer  blue  funk. 

"  She  has  just  turned  her  ankle ! "  I  exclaimed  me- 
chanically. 

"  It's  all  right,  papa,"  put  in  Gina's  cheerful  voice. 
"  It'?  these  old  slippers.  I'll  go  and  change  them."  And 
to  my  amazement  she  straightened  up,  flashed  a  radiant 
smile  at  both  of  us,  and  walked  to  the  door  with  only  the 
slightest  of  limps. 

"  Sure  you  can  walk  alone  ?  "  I  managed  to  stammer. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  Gina  waved  her  hand  at  the  door.  "  I'll 
be  down  soon." 

The  father  laughed  loudly  and  put  his  hand  upon  my 
ihoulder. 

"  Come,  caro  mio,  let  us  have  a  little  smoke."  I  fol- 
lowed him  dazedly.  "  Wonderful  girl,  Gina !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "High  spirits,  eh?" 

"  Er  —  yes,  indeed  —  very  high."  I  felt  as  though  I 
had  emerged  from  a  severe  physical  struggle. 

"  I  can  see  —  oh,  even  an  old  man  like  me  can  see," 
he  chuckled  jovially,  as  he  held  his  cigar  box  toward  me 
in  the  smoking  room,  "  that  you  young  people  like  each 
other  —  eh  ?  Oh,  sit  down,  sit  down,  amico  mio.  It  is 
all  right  —  all  right.  I  must  get  used  to  the  idea  of  the 
bambina  being  grown  up,"  and  forcing  me  down  into  a 
leather  chair,  he  continued  to  tap  my  shoulder  by  way  of 
emphasizing  his  words.  "  I  have  been  young  —  yes !  I 
understand  —  and  trust  me,  my  boy,  you  cannot  do  bet- 
ter. Gina  —  Gina  is  one  treasure  for  a  man.  Ah  —  yes ! 
No  love  like  the  Italian  woman's  love.  She  will  make 
you  the  best  —  " 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       267 

"  But  wait  —  for  God's  sake,  Mr.  Visconti,  wait,"  I 
cried  in  agony,  leaping  from  my  chair.  "  I  can't  —  I 
mustn't  even  pretend  to  think  of  such  a  thing.  Gina  is 
far  too  —  " 

"  Say  no  more ! "  he  interrupted  vehemently,  tapping 
me  with  the  back  of  his  hand  on  the  chest  "  You  are 
a  fine,  gooda  young  man !  " 

"  Thanks !  "  I  gasped,  "  but  you  don't  understand.  I 
am  in  no  position  to  marry  any  woman  at  this  time. 
I'm  —  " 

"  Hold  on ! "  he  flung  me  back  into  the  chair  with  an 
exuberant  force  that  would  have  made  me  laugh  if  my 
vitals  had  not  been  chilled  by  terror.  "  Is  it  that  I  do 
not  know?  Do  I  not  know  how  your  capital  did  go  — 
pouf !  like  that  ?  But  all  that  I  have  —  Gina  has  it.  She 
will  have  enough,"  and  he  nodded  his  head  with  pregnant 
emphasis,  "  enough,  my  friend.  And  Gina's  husband  — 
he  will  be  my  son !  "  He  struck  his  large  chest  a  mighty 
blow  and  threw  back  his  head  with  triumphant  finality. 

I  attempted  no  more  to  rise.    It  was  useless. 

"  Signor  Visconti,"  I  began  huskily,  "  you  do  not  un- 
derstand me.  I  cannot  marry  anybody,  ever.  I  have 
four  children  to  bring  up  —  educate  —  to  be  responsible 
for.  The  youngest  of  them  is  eight.  I  —  you  honor  me 
greatly  by  your  kindness  —  but  marriage  is  not  for 
me." 

He  stared  in  speechless  stupefaction  at  me  as  though 
I  had  revealed  some  incredible  horror  to  his  eyes. 

"  Four  children ! "  he  whispered,  with  dilated  eyes. 
"  But  who  —  but  I  thought  you  have  never  been  mar- 
ried?" 

"  I  have  not,"  I  replied  with  an  intense  relief  that  was 
like  a  restorative.  Then,  catching  his  meaning  glance,  I 
went  on  hastily ;  "  They  are  my  sister's  orphans.  I  am 
responsible  for  them.  They  have  no  one  else." 


268       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Ah !  "  he  drew  in  his  breath  with  the  sound  of  a 
syphon.  "That  is  it,  is  it?" 

"  Yes,"  I  murmured,  rising-,  resolved  to  put  an  end 
to  this  ghastly  episode.  "  Now,  if  you  will  excuse 
me  —  " 

All  at  once  his  hands  shot  out  and  clutched  both  of 
mine. 

"  You're  not  good  man ! "  he  shouted  vehemently. 
"  No  —  not  only  good  —  you're  a  great  man !  Caro  mio 
—  ah,  I  never  make  mistake  —  no !  "  And  before  I  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  he  had  embraced  me  in  Continental 
fashion  and  large  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

The  cup  of  my  torment  was  complete.  A  mad  desire 
to  get  away  possessed  me  —  only  to  get  away.  I  stirred 
to  move  but  he  held  me  resolutely. 

"  We  will  think  it  out,  my  friend,"  he  announced  with 
sober  energy.  "  We  will  talk  it  over  —  work  it  out.  I, 
too,  am  a  man  with  a  heart,  caro  mio.  It  is  I  who  under- 
stand —  Have  I  not  lost  my  poor  Giovanna  —  Gina's 
mother?  If  you  two  love  each  other  —  well  —  we  must 
find  —  a  way." 

Hope  bounded  in  my  pulses  as  I  noted  that  his  en- 
thusiasm was  now  tempered  by  thoughtf  ulness. 

"  No,  Mr.  Visconti,"  I  murmured  with  painful  firm- 
ness. "  I  have  no  right  to  love  Miss  Gina  —  and  I 
wouldn't  dream  of  telling  her  so,  even  if  I  did  —  I  am 
not  free  —  " 

"  You  —  you're  not  promesso  —  what  d'you  call  it  — 
engaged  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  It  is  only  my  heart  that  is  engaged  — 
not  my  word  —  there  is  some  one  else  —  but  it  can  never 
be  anything  —  " 

"  But  what  does  it  mean  ?  "  he  flashed,  dark  anger 
purpling  his  features  and  kindling  the  air  like  a  torch. 
"  What  did  I  see !  My  girl  in  your  arms  —  what  was 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       259 

that !  "  His  eyes  now  darted  fiery  anger  and  his  arms 
were  arrested  in  the  midst  of  a  violent  gesture. 

I  shook  my  head  slowly.  His  anger  was  infinitely 
more  agreeable  to  me  —  like  manna  —  after  his  parch- 
ing enthusiasm. 

"  There  was  nothing,"  I  answered  quietly.  "  Miss 
Gina  really  turned  her  ankle  on  the  rug.  And  I  caughfc 
her  as  she  fell  —  just  as  you  would  have  done." 

He  stood  panting  for  a  moment,  his  gaze  riveted  upon 
me.  At  last  he  turned  away,  with  a  pitiful  movement  of 
regret,  apology,  resignation.  The  excellent  man  gave  me 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 

"  Ah,  Dio  mio,"  he  muttered.  "  Poverina!  Go,  my 
friend,  now.  I  must  think.  Bellezza  mia!  —  cara  mict! 
—  what  will  I  say  to  her?  Ah,  Dio!  what  a  bitter 
world !  " 

"  I  am  more  distressed  than  I  can  say,"  I  murmured, 
with  the  crushed  voice  of  poignant  suffering,  "  but  what 
can  I  do  —  or  say  —  more?" 

" Niente  —  nothing,  nothing,"  he  muttered.  "Good 
night !  "  and  my  admiration  for  his  spirit  was  high  when 
he  held  out  his  trembling  hand. 

I  tiptoed  to  the  door  like  a  thief  and  as  I  took  my 
coat  and  hat,  Gina  called  out  from  the  top  of  the  stairs 
in  uncomprehending  astonishment. 

"  Not  going  —  Randolph !  "  And  like  a  small  ava- 
lanche she  shot  down  the  stairs. 

"Yes  —  yes  —  he  is  going,  bellezza  mia!"  firmly 
shouted  Visconti  as  he  came  running  towards  us.  "  He 
is  called  away  —  good  night  —  good  night !  " 

"  Good  night,"  I  said  and  held  out  my  hand  to  Gina. 
But  Gina's  manners  are  more  modern  than  her  father's. 
She  was  dumbfounded  and  she  turned  her  back  upon  me 
angrily,  registering  doubtless  some  standard  emotion 
from  a  favorite  movie.  It  was  useless  to  try  to  placate 


±60       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

her.     I  slipped  out  of  the  door  which  will  never  more 
open  for  me. 

The  nightmarish  quality  of  the  episode  persisted  in  my 
consciousness  like  a  drug  throughout  the  passage  home- 
ward, and  it  was  not  until  I  entered  my  door  and 
saw  a  light  in  my  study  that  reality  began  to  assert  it- 
self. 

Reality  meant  the  end  —  the  end  of  my  livelihood,  the 
end  of  my  hopes  and  plans  —  the  end  of  the  tether.  Like 
an  unfledged  boy  I  must  begin  to  breast  the  future  all 
over  again.  A  hero  of  romance  would  doubtless  at  that 
moment  have  thrilled  to  the  struggle  with  new  and  seem- 
ingly insuperable  obstacles.  But  alas!  I  am  not  a 
hero  of  romance!  As  I  threw  my  coat  upon  the  hat- 
stand,  a  great  weariness  and  a  deep  dejection  fell  upon 
me. 

Alicia  came  out  of  my  study  to  greet  me.  As  usual 
she  had  been  waiting  up  for  me. 

"  Why  on  earth  aren't  you  in  bed  ?  "  I  growled  irri- 
tably. Alicia  scanned  my  face  amid  the  shadows  cast  by 
the  lamplight  "  Go  to  bed,  child,"  I  repeated ;  "  go  to 
bed." 

"  Something  has  happened,"  she  murmured,  fright- 
ened ;  "  something  has  happened.  Oh,  tell  me  —  what 
was  it,  Uncle  Ranny  ?  " 

I  looked  down  at  her  with  a  scowl  that  was  meant  to 
be  forbidding  —  a  warning  that  I  was  in  no  mood  for 
triflingness. 

She  seized  my  hand,  still  holding  my  gaze  with  that 
starry  look  in  her  eyes  that  invariably  probes  deep  and 
resf.s  in  my  inmost  soul. 

"  Something  has  hurt  you,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  whis- 
pered tremulously,  "  and  you  must  tell  me."  Our  eyes 
dwelt  together  for  a  space.  "  Oh,  tell  me!  "  she  gulped, 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       2«1 

with  a  sudden  terror  dilating1  her  eyes.  "  It  isn't  —  it 
isn't  that  —  man  come  back !  " 

"  Oh,  no ! "  1  shuddered  involuntarily  at  the  image 
she  evoked  of  Pendleton,  "  Not  that.  Thank  Heaven, 
Alicia,  you're  no  Pollyanna;  you  see  the  worst  at  once. 

"  No,"  I  finally  muttered,  looking  away,  "  I  have  hurt 
somebody." 

"  I  can't  believe  that,"  she  retorted  vehemently.  "  But 
if  you  think  so  —  Please,  please,  tell  me.  It  will  be  so 
much  better,  for  you,  Uncle  Ranny." 

I  had  a  sudden  impulse  to  take  her  in  my  arms,  but 
the  emotion  was  not  paternal.  And  —  I  was  to  her 
"  Uncle  Ranny."  All  unconscious  she  was  guarded 
by  her  circle  of  sacred  flames.  Spasmodically  I  tore  ray 
hand  out  of  her  grasp  and  walked  unsteadily  across  the 
room  to  my  table. 

"  Sit  down  over  there,"  I  motioned  her  as  far  away 
from  me  as  possible.  She  stood  still  without  comply- 
ing. 

"  What  was  it,  Uncle  Ranny,  dear?  "  she  breathed. 

A  sort  of  bittersweet  pain  went  through  me  at  the 
epithet  and  I  reviled  myself  inwardly  for  the  impurity  of 
my  dark  mind  in  the  presence  of  this  simple,  lovely  pur- 
ity. A  profound  sigh  escaped  me  as  I  leaned  my  elbows 
on  the  table  and  made  a  feeble  effort  to  smile  at  the 
mocking  visage  of  Fate. 

"  I  cannot  go  back  to  Visconti's  any  more,  Alicia,"  I 
told  her.  "  Something  has  happened.  That  is  ended. 
I  must  look  about  for  something  else." 

"  Oh !  "  she  gasped,  "  is  it  as  bad  as  that?  " 

"  As  bad  as  that,"  I  repeated  mechanically. 

"  Then  I  know  it  was  nothing  you  could  help,"  she 
answered  with  a  sudden  radiance  that  was  like  a  bene- 
diction. 

"  So  there  is  no  use  worrying  about  that.     But  you 


262       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

mean  the  money,"  and  her  face  clouded  anxiously.  "  But 
I  know  what  I'll  do,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  came  gliding 
toward  me.  "  There  is  always  Mr.  Andrews  for  me, 
you  know.  You  remember  what  he  said:  He'll  take 
me  back  any  time." 

An  instant  of  blackness  was  succeeded  by  a  sudden 
burst  of  illumination.  Andrews!  Andrews  and  the 
library  —  the  library,  all  catalogued  —  complete !  An- 
drews would  either  buy  it  or  help  me  to  dispose  of  it, 
and  Alicia  and  the  children  need  not  after  all  suffer  by 
my  catastrophe.  My  books  were  more  like  my  flesh  and 
blood,  and  to  part  with  them  —  but  that  consideration 
was  of  singularly  brief  endurance  at  the  moment.  Those 
books,  like  a  troop  of  old  friends;  would  rescue  us  all 
from  disaster  —  come  like  a  phalanx  between  us  and 
defeat. 

"  You  amazing  child !  "  I  cried,  leaping  to  my  feet 
"  Light !  —  You've  brought  me  light !  Andrews !  —  The 
very  man !  To-morrow  I  am  going  to  Andrews !  " 

I  seized  her  by  the  shoulders  and  whirled  her  about 
the  room  like  a  marionette  in  a  savage  burst  of  energy. 
Alicia  gasped  and,  spinning  away,  laughed  wildly  with  a 
laughter  that  bordered  upon  sobs.  I  dread  to  reflect 
what  our  neighbors  would  have  concluded,  had  they  ob- 
served through  the  windows  the  strange  Dionysian  rite 
of  the  quiet  middle-aged  bachelor  and  his  youthful  pretty 
ward. 

"  Now  go  to  bed,  child,"  I  commanded  brusquely.  "  I 
have  some  thinking  to  do." 

"  Shall  I  make  you  some  coffee?  "  she  pleaded,  coming 
toward  me,  still  laughing. 

"  No  —  go  to  bed !  "  Before  I  was  aware  she  had  left 
a  darting  birdlike  kiss  upon  my  cheek  and  fled  like  a 
breeze  from  the  room. 

My  eyes  dwelt  upon  the  door  for  a  space  where  she 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       263 

had  vanished,  and  then  they  turned  involuntarily  to  the 
serried  peaceful  rows  of  books  that  had  been  my  life,  — 
that  now,  in  the  last  extremity  of  need,  must,  like  the 
camel  in  the  desert,  yield  up  their  blood  to  be  my  live- 
lihood. 

The  following  morning,  that  is  to-day,  I  made  my  way 
to  Andrews,  armed  with  my  catalogue,  and  greatly 
to  that  good  fellow's  astonishment  offered  him  the  sale 
of  my  library. 

He  stared  at  me  in  blank  amazement  for  an  instant 
and  then,  recovering  himself,  declared  that  he  would 
like  to  see  it. 

"  Come  back  to  lunch  with  me,"  I  suggested. 

He  could  not  do  that,  but  agreed  to  come  to  dinner 
in  the  evening. 

His  shrewd  old  eyes  took  in  much  more  than  the  details 
of  my  copies  and  editions  during  his  two  or  three  hours 
at  my  house.  With  discreet  but  observant  gaze  he  fol- 
lowed the  children  about  and  measured,  more  accurately 
no  doubt  than  I  could  have  done,  the  worth  and  solidity 
of  my  household.  He  had  seen  something  of  my  easy 
bachelor  life  in  the  old  days  and,  doubtless,  was  now 
drawing  his  contrasts  and  conclusions. 

"What  do  you  think  you  can  offer?"  I  queried  with 
some  anxiety,  as  he  stood  carefully  fingering  the  books 
which,  like  Milton's  one  talent,  it  were  death  to  hide  — 
for  they  were  bread. 

Andrews  sat  down  and  stared  for  an  interval  thought- 
fully before  him. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  like  to  offer  you  before  we 
talk  about  the  books  — "  he  spoke  with  an  even,  a 
studied  deliberation.  "  I'd  like  to  offer  you  —  a  part- 
nership ! " 

It  was  my  turn  to  stare  in  stupefaction. 


264       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  It  would  be  a  great  thing  for  me  if  you  came  in  with 
me,  Mr.  Byrd,"  he  now  spoke  more  quickly.  "  You  see, 
I'm  an  old  man,  getting  on,  sir  —  getting  on.  I  want 
some  new  blood  in  the  place  —  new  blood  —  a  fresh 
point  of  view  and  young  enthusiasm.  That  young  lady 
of  yours  coming  in  the  way  she  did  woke  me  up  to  that. 
And  whom  could  I  leave  it  to  when  it  comes  to  the  end?  " 
he  speculated  wistfully.  "  I  have  no  relations." 

I  opened  my  mouth  to  speak,  but  Andrews  took  the 
privilege  of  age  to  disregard  me. 

"  I  want  a  man  with  the  tender  touch  for  books,  Mr. 
Byrd  —  the  tender  touch.  It's  a  beautiful  business,"  he 
smacked  his  lips  —  "beautiful!  The  hunting  for  them 

—  it's  —  it's  a  knightly  quest.     And  to  find  homes  for 
them  —  it's  like  placing  bonny  children.     The  bookmen 
of  America  are  generous.    We  ought  to  go  to  England  — 
buy  libraries — increase  our  treasure." 

"  But,  my  dear  Andrews,"  I  spluttered,  in  agitated 
protest.  "  Do  you  know  what  you  are  offering  me?  A 
career,  a  livelihood,  life  itself  —  the  future  of  those  chil- 
dren of  mine  —  what  can  I  contribute,  except  these  books 

—  and  compared  to  your  business  and  good  will!  —  " 
"If  you  were  rich,"  he  interrupted,  "  do  you  suppose 

I'd  have  the  effrontery  to  make  you  the  offer?  You 
see,  I've  known  you  a  long  time,  Mr.  Byrd  —  and  it's 
been  a  great  pleasure  to  me.  If  I  had  a  son  —  but,"  and 
his  voice  struck  a  harsher  note  with  things  repressed  — 
"  it's  no  use  going  into  that.  That  is  the  business  for 
a  man  like  you. 

"  We  all  need  money,"  he  pursued  with  new  energy. 
"  It's  a  thing  to  despise  if  you  can  —  a  thing  for  senti- 
mentalists to  drivel  about.  But  so  long  as  our  present 
social  and  economic  system  continues,  only  a  fool  would 
decry  money.  It's  no  good  to  you  when  your  heart  is 
breaking,  but  neither  is  food  nor  water,  nor  shelter  nor 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       265 

leisure.  But  when  you  want  food  and  shelter  and  leis- 
ure, that  is  as  long  as  you're  above  ground,  you  want 
money.  I  have  prospered  —  done  well.  Will  you  come 
with  me,  Randolph  Byrd  ?  " 

"  My  dear  good  Andrews,"  I  paced  the  room  agitated, 
exultant,  terrified  by  this  stroke  of  good  fortune.  "  But 
how  can  I  take  advantage  of  your  unheard-of  generosity? 
What  can  I  offer?  Will  you  take  my  books  as  a  contri- 
bution to  capital  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  shook  his  head,  with  twinkling  eyes  and  a 
queer  crinkling  of  the  crow's-feet  about  them.  "  I  don't 
think  we  need  them.  Books  are*  always  —  books,"  he 
concluded  oracularly,  with  a  ring  in  his  voice  of  the  true 
bibliophile's  reverence. 

"  Say  you  will  come." 

My  heart  was  suddenly  flooded  by  a  rich  inun- 
dation of  hope.  This  was  permanence  that  Andrews  was 
holding  out  —  this  was  an  anchorage.  It  was  neither 
Salmon  and  Byrd,  nor  Visconti's.  This  was  my  own 
peculiar  realm,  and  only  a  snob  or  a  foot  could  reject  it. 
Ca  me  connait.  All  the  turmoil  and  troubles  of  the  past 
seemed  to  be  melting  rapidly  away  like  the  shapes  in 
dreams  or  unsubstantial  clouds.  My  life  would  be  se- 
cure, the  children  nourished  and  educated.  Alicia  should 
have  her  chance  unchallenged  —  should  be  prepared 
against  the  advent  of  that  dream-hero  of  hers —  when  he 
comes  —  when  he  comes!  What  else  was  I  now  living 
for?  I  felt  as  might  have  felt  the  old  woman  of  the 
nursery  rhyme,  who  lived  in  a  shoe,  had  any  one  sud- 
denly offered  her  a  vine-clad  well-stocked  cottage  of 
many  chambers,  with  a  future  reasonably  safe  for  her 
progeny.  I  saw  on  a  sudden  the  clamorous  city  that  had 
more  than  once  droned  forth  my  doom,  now  rich  in 
prospects  and  gayly  reciting  the  flattering  tale  of  hope 
in  my  ears  —  the  hope  of  becoming  a  bookseller  in  face 


266       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

of  my  dreams  of  scholarship,  eminence  —  fame,  possi- 
bly! But  this  was  no  dream.  With  a  flitting  smile  I 
recognized  the  wayward  cynicism  and  irony  of  it.  And 
in  deep  gratitude  I  gripped  the  hand  of  Andrews  to  seal 
the  bargain. 


BOOK   THREE 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  returning  to  this  all  but  neglected  record  of  the 
things  that  made  up  my  life  I  realize  with  incredulity 
the  passage  of  time.  I  realize,  too,  that  when  you  live 
the  most  fully,  you  write,  reflect  and  record  the  least. 
It  was  after  his  years  of  slavery  that  Cervantes  wrote 
Don  Quixote  and  inside  a  prison  house  that  Bunyan  and 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  composed  their  best-known  works. 

I  shall  never  compose  "  works  ",  I  am  certain  now, 
for  my  lot  is  business  to  the  end.  Three  times  during 
the  past  two  years  I  have-  been  in  England  and  in  France, 
attending  sales,  buying  books,  manuscripts  and  libraries, 
and  very  narrowly  I  escaped  sailing  on  the  Lusitania, 
which  would  probably  have  been  the  end  of  these  me- 
moirs and  of  me.  Would  it  have  mattered?  To  the 
children,  possibly.  Not  to  me,  certainly  —  except  in  so 
far  as  they  would  have  suffered  by  my  exit.  For  though 
the  business  of  books  is  to  me  the  one  nearest  akin  to 
pleasure,  it  is  nevertheless  a  chaffering  and  a  haggling 
in  the  market-place  —  the  reverse  of  all  my  tastes  and 
aptitudes. 

It  is  odd  that  externally  I  bear  few  of  the  marks  of 
the  indolent  lotus-eating  soul  that  possesses  me.  People 
viewing  me  superficially  might  think,  with  Andrews, 
that  I  am  fitted  for  stratagems,  spoils  and  —  business. 

Yet  how  happy  I  was  when  Andrews  made  me  his 
offer !  How  I  plunged  into  his  affairs  —  our  affairs  — 
and  gave  them  all  my  energy !  The  children,  I  exulted 
inwardly,  the  children  are  now  safe ! 


270       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

But  nature  abhors  anomalies.  To  work  for  children 
alone  is  not  enough.  One  desires  to  work  for  a  bosom 
companion,  "for  some  beloved  woman,  whose  breast  is 
home,  whose  warm  arms  are  the  one  refuge  against  the 
world,  whose  eyes  are  the  bright  gateways  to  heaven. 
That  fulfillment  I  never  had  and  never  shall  have.  Hence 
the  anomalous  sense  of  frustration,  of  incompleteness. 
Some  psychoanalyst  would  doubtless  brand  this  as  a  well- 
known  middle-aged  complex,  call  it  by  name  like  a  fa- 
miliar and  proceed  to  "  cure  "  me  of  it.  But  I  am  not 
going  to  any  psychoanalyst.  I  know  my  trouble  and 
also  its  name  —  though  I  cannot  call  it  after  King 
CEdipus  or  King  David  or  the  like. 

Gale  otto  fu  il  libro  e  chi  lo  scrisse  mourned  the  flame- 
like  Francesca  da  Rimini.  And  the  name  and  the  author 
of  my  trouble  is  not  GaJeotto  but  —  Alicia  —  Alicia 
whom  I  did  not  take  and  now  can  never  have. 

I  am  no  romantic  Paolo  to  Alicia's  Francesca.  I  am 
a  business  man  —  yes,  a  middle-aged,  almost  alert  New 
York  business  man  of  the  approved  hard-varnish  variety 
—  with  good,  pat  stereotyped  phrases  and  a  show  of 
manly  sincerity.  Who  does  not  know  that  straight  talk 
of  most  of  us  modern  business  men,  under  which  we  can 
hide  so  much  cunning,  shrewdness  and  chicane?  Could 
I  not  have  simply  taken  possession  of  Alicia  by  a  sort  of 
eminent  domain  ?  Oh,  I  don't  mean  anything  improper ! 
I  mean  by  all  the  astute  and  usual  methods,  the  bell  — 
book  —  candle  and  orange-blossoms  sort  of  thing,  like 
the  hardheaded  Mr.  Pettigrew  of  American  novels,  or 
the  wicked  marquess  or  baronet  of  the  English. 

But  I  could  not  —  I  could  not. 

Under  the  carapace  of  the  turtle  or  the  armadillo  is  a 
body  of  flesh  with  nerves  and  blood  and  viscera  —  a  soft 
living  part.  So  also  under  the  shell  of  the  maligned  busi- 
ness man. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       271 

An  infinite  pity  and  tenderness  stir  me  at  the  thought 
of  Alicia.  I  suddenly  feel  in  my  inmost  soul  the  softness 
of  her  cheek  and  it  touches  me  as  the  delicacy  of  one's 
own  child's  flesh  must  touch  one.  If  I  had  a  child  of  my 
own  —  but  on  that  I  must  not  let  my  mind  dwell  even 
in  dreams. 

Yet,  why  not  ?  Dreams  are  all  I  am  going  to  have  and, 
pardie,  it  is  more  than  I  deserve.  Much,  very  much  has 
been  given  to  me  and  I  ought  to  feel  profoundly  grate- 
ful. And  I  do  feel  grateful. 

But  —  Alicia  —  is  engaged. 

I  can  hardly  write  the  words,  though  these  are  the 
words  that  have  driven  me  to  writing  again. 

I  have  been  happy  these  two  years  and  more  —  happy 
in  my  fashion.  In  midst  of  the  tumult  and  throb  of  the 
war  spirit  I,  in  common  with  other  business  men,  have 
been  buying  and  selling  and  chaffering  and  huckstering, 
rearing  Laura's  children,  educating  Alicia  and  prosper- 
ing. If  newly  rich  labor  has  been  buying  motor  cars,  it 
must  be  admitted  that  some  abruptly  enriched  business 
men  and  their  wives  have  had  time  to  turn  from  furs 
and  bric-a-brac  and  interior  decorating  so  far  afield  as  my 
own  remote  specialty.  They  have  been  buying  books  — 
libraries  by  the  yard,  classics  and  first  editions  by  the 
hundred.  The  fact  that  that  admirable  American  book- 
man, the  young  Widener,  had  managed  to  gather  a  mag- 
nificent collection  during  his  all  too  brief  life,  has  stimu- 
lated many  to  emulation.  Shelley  need  no  longer  weep 
for  Adonais.  I  have  sold  collections  of  Keats  en  bloc  to 
gentlemen  who  have  probably  never  read  Endymion  in 
their  lives,  and  even  now  I  am  holding  a  set  of  Shelley 
first  editions  only  because  I  could  not  bring  myself  to 
part  with  them  to  the  very  crude,  almost  illiterate,  cus- 
tomer who  proves  to  be  the  highest  bidder.  Rather 
would  I  sell  them  for  less  to  a  more  enlightened  bookman. 


272       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Oh,  yea,  I  ha*e  been  happy  in  my  fashion.  Yet,  glancing 
over  the  few  brief  scattering  entries  in  this  record,  why 
does  the  tinge  of  melancholy  persist? 

I  find  a  quotation  from  Anatole  France  under  date 
of  some  twenty-six  months  ago  to  the  point  that  "  even 
the  most  desired  changes  have  their  sadness,  for  all  that 
we  leave  behind  is  a  part  of  ourselves.  One  must  die  to 
one  sort  of  life  in  order  to  enter  another." 

What  is  it  that  I  regret  or  regretted  —  unles«  it  is  the 
mere  passage  of  time  that  makes  me  older  and  older? 
And  again  I  find: 

"  Life  is  a  game  best  played  by  children  and  by  those 
who  retain  the  hearts  of  children.  To  those  who  have 
the  misfortune  to  grow  up  it  is  often  a  nightmare." 
There  it  is  again  —  the  persistent  note  of  regret.  Time 
will  take  them  all  from  me  —  all,  including  Alicia.  And 
then?  —  How  did  I  ever  come  to  let  passion  steal  into 
my  heart? 

I  find  some  phrases  from  Hazlitt  to  the  effect  that  "  we 
take  a  dislike  to  our  favorite  books  after  a  time,"  and 
that  "If  mankind  had  wished  for  what  is  right  they 
might  have  had  it  long  ago,"  and  then  later,  a  sort  of 
credo,  or  confession  or  apologia  pro  vita  mea: 

"  This  is  a  commercial  age.  If  business  is  the  path  of 
least  resistance  to  a  livelihood,  so  that  a  slenderly  en- 
dowed creature  like  myself  may  cling  to  the  surface  of 
the  planet  and  pass  on  what  has  been  accomplished  to 
the  generations  that  must  accomplish  more  —  if  that  is 
the  easiest  way,  then  that  is  the  way  of  nature,  my  way. 
All  business  may  be  more  or  less  ignoble.  But,  if  so, 
who  in  the  present  state  of  evolution  can  wholly  escape 
the  ignoble?" 

Yet  I  have  not  altered  in  essentials.  Who  shall  say 
how  I  thrill  at  the  sight  of  beauty,  or  the  rare  work  of 
a  master?  I  cannot  declare  how  my  pulses  throb  when 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       273 

a  new  author  swims  into  my  ken — -his  new  voice,  his 
fresh  note  catch  at  my  throat  like  a  haunting  melody  and 
I  have  known  my  eyes  to  fill  at  the  sheer  joy  of  the  dis- 
covery. 

Oh,  you,  Randolph  Byrd,  aged  seventy,  when  you  come 
with  your  white  hair  and  purblind  eyes  to  scan  these 
notes,  will  you  receive  them  at  their  face  value?  Will 
you  believe  that  the  sense  of  frustration  underlying  them 
has  to  do  with  careers  and  fame  and  lives  of  Brunetto 
Latini  ?  No,  my  septuagenarian  self  —  I  have  a  respect 
for  you  and  a  warm  pity.  I  cannot  so  coldly  gull  you  — 
take  advantage  of  you !  Damn  careers  and  business  and 
Brunetto  Latinis !  I  want  love,  passionate  love  and  chil- 
dren of  my  own  loins  and  the  beloved  on  my  heart,  and 
just  the  common  run  of  happiness  that  a  thousand  thou- 
sand men  are  at  this  moment  enjoying.  Then  why  have 
I  not  taken  it?  Why  have  I  not  taken  Alicia  as  King 
David  took  Bathsheba,  or  whatever  the  lady's  name  was, 
in  virtue  of  sheer  desire  and  power?  Because  I  have 
been  a  finicking,  hyper-refined,  hyper-sensitive  fool,  my 
aged  friend ;  and  now  that  she  is  engaged  to  be  married 
I  should  be  —  but  now  it's  too  late!  Always,  always, 
Randolph  Byrd,  you  have  been  too  late ! 

All  the  world  can  give  me  advice  and  analyze  me,  yet 
nobody  really  knows  me.  Dibdin,  who  knows  me  be*t 
of  all,  in  reality  knows  me  least  He  summed  me  up, 
or  thought  he  did,  before  his  periodical  departure  for 
parts  unknown,  some  twenty  months  ago. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  you've  really  got  a  genius  for 
kids.  I  told  you  how  I  felt  about  Laura,  Yet  what  do 
I  do?  I  go  off  to  the  devil  knows  where,  because  I  am 
a  tramp.  That  is  stronger  in  me  than  anything  else. 
But  you,  you  see,  gave  up  everything  else  for  them  — 
everything.  Who  but  a  fool  could  blink  the  meaning 
of  that?" 


27*       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

,Who  but  a  fool,  my  dear  old  Dibdin,  could  be  so  blind 
as  you  ?  Who  but  a  fool  could  fail  to  see  that  I  am  con- 
samed  with  passion  for  Alicia  and  had  only  been  wait- 
ing1, dreading,  hoping  until  she  might  be  old  enough  to 
know  her  own  mind  and  heart  —  and  waiting  too  long? 

And  now  Alicia  is  engaged  —  and  to  my  own  nephew, 
Randolph  —  and  life  for  me,  life  in  the  rich,  vivid,  color- 
ful, romantic  sense  of  the  word,  is  at  an  end. 

My  nephew  Randolph  —  a  sophomore  at  Columbia  — 
engaged  to  Alicia! 

Flashes  of  savagery  strike  into  my  heart  when  I  could 
find  it  possible  to  hate  that  youth  —  notably  when  I  catch 
the  Pendleton  expression  in  his  face,  the  Pendleton  shifti- 
ness in  his  eyes.  At  such  moments  I  experience  an  in- 
tense, all  but  irresistible  desire  to  grapple  with  him  as  on 
a  certain  occasion  I  grappled  with  his  father,  to  knock 
his  head  against  the  wall  and  choke  that  brazen-faced, 
insolent  temerity  out  of  him  with  his  last  breath. 

But  I  am  only  Uncle  Ranny  —  and  I  don't  suppose  I 
shall  do  anything  of  the  kind.  Have  I  not  brought  him 
up?  Have  I  not  labored  and  toiled  for  him,  watched 
over  him?  Is  he  not  my  child  like  the  rest?  There  is 
something  about  the  person,  the  very  flesh  of  the  child 
one  has  reared  that  disarms  one's  anger  and  turns  the 
heart  to  water.  His  bad  manners  hurt  more  deeply,  yet 
they  are  not  like  the  bad  manners  of  a  stranger.  His 
transgressions  are  not  like  others'  transgressions.  In 
God's  name,  your  soul  cries  out,  there  must  be  redeeming 
features,  extenuating  conditions !  Have  I  not  had  a  hand 
in  shaping  him  ?  And  was  he  not  ineffably  endearing  as 
a  child  ?  He  may  be  somewhat  wild  now,  but  is  not  all 
youth  like  that  on  its  path  to  manhood? 

This  is  a  parent's  point  of  view,  I  see,  not  a  rival's. 
Why,  why  did  that  boy,  of  all  the  males  in  the  world, 
take  Alicia  from  me? 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       275 

It  was  only  yesterday  that  it  happened,  but  already  it 
seems  like  an  ancient  calamity  that  stamps  its  victim 
with  the  slow  grind  of  years  of  pain,  blanches  his  flesh 
and  presses  him  down  into  the  limbo  of  those  undergoing 
the  slow  drawn-out  tortures  of  life. 

Yet  I  was  happy  yesterday.  I  came  home  at  one,  as 
I  do  of  Saturdays,  and  the  early  April  sunshine,  while 
still  treacherous,  was  nevertheless  full  of  dazzling  prom- 
ise of  spring,  of  relief  from  the  dread  winter  we  have 
endured.  My  head  had  been  buzzing  with  schemes  like 
a  hive.  The  lease  of  the  chalet  expires  in  May  and  I  was 
full  of  vain  notions  of  taking  a  larger,  more  attractive 
house  that  should  be  a  suitable  setting  for  Alicia.  Only 
one  year  more  of  college  is  left  for  Alicia  after  this  and 
then  —  and  then  —  Alicia  had  talked  of  entering  the 
shop,  and  I  should  have  her  with  me  all  the  time.  How 
I  longed  and  looked  forward  to  that  day!  Alicia  my 
constant  companion,  sharing  every  moment  of  the  day, 
going  and  coming  together,  lunching  together,  discuss- 
ing everything.  Who  shall  blame  me  if  I  saw  visions? 

And  then,  perhaps  an  hour  after  lunch,  they  suddenly 
entered  my  study  together —  Randolph  a  half -pace  or  so 
behind  her  with  something  hangdog  in  his  look  —  an  ex- 
pression I  detest  in  him  —  and  Alicia,  head  high,  flushed 
with  a  look  of  desperate  resolution  about  the  somewhat 
haggard  eyes  that  startled  me. 

I  had  been  occupied  in  turning  over  the  pages  and  col- 
lating a  Caxton,  a  genuine  Caxton  that  I  meant  later  to 
show  to  Alicia  —  "  The  Royal  Book,"  ( 1480,  2d  year  of 
the  Regne  of  King  Rychard  the  thyrd) — a  beautiful 
incunabulum. 

Randolph  moved  abruptly  forward  with  a  jerk  of  the 
head,  and,  his  eyes  failing  to  meet  mine,  he  blurted  out 
huskily : 

"  We're  engaged,  Uncle  Ran  —  'Licia  and  I !  " 


276       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  What ! "  I  yelled  harshly  as  one  in  pain  and  fell 
against  the  back  of  my  chair.  "  What  —  what  on  earth 
do  you  mean  I  " 

But  he  merely  looked  away,  making  no  response. 

"  Is  this  true,  Alicia?  "  I  snouted,  as  if  to  overtop  the 
tumult  in  my  breast. 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Ranny,"  breathed  Alicia,  her  eyes  gazing 
into  mine  with  a  look  so  poignantly  sad  and  charged  with 
pain  that  it  froze  me  as  I  was  about  to  speak.  I  sat  for  a 
space,  my  mouth  open,  our  eyes  dwelling  together  for  an 
instant.  And  then,  as  by  a  sudden  effort,  Alicia  smiled 
valiantly,  laid  her  hand  stoutly  on  the  shrinking  boy's 
arm,  and  then  abruptly  she  lowered  her  gaze. 

"  But  —  but  why  —  why  now?  "  I  spluttered.  "  You 
are  both  so  young  —  you  only  a  sophomore,  Randolph  — 
and  you,  Alicia  —  in  God's  name,  why  now?  " 

Alicia  glanced  at  Randolph  as  though  depending  on 
him  to  speak  and  then  contemptuously  giving  it  up  as 
hopeless,  she  straightened  her  shoulders  bravely  and  mur- 
mured in  low  distinct  tones: 

"  I  promised  Randolph.  He  wants  me  to  be  engaged 
to  him  and  I  promised  him  I  would." 

"You  —  you  mean  you  —  you  love  each  other?"  I 
stammered  miserably,  for  every  word  was  a  knife  thrust 
into  my  own  heart. 

The  lad  Randolph  was  now  shamed  into  a  little  manli- 
ness. 

"  Yes,  we  do,  Uncle  Ranny,"  came  forth  in  his  throaty 
voice.  "  That's  just  it  —  we  —  we  love  each  other. 
And  —  'Licia  has  promised  to  be  engaged  to  me  'til  I 
am  through  college  and  get  a  job." 

"  I  suppose  it  had  to  come,  Uncle  Ranny,"  explained 
Alicia  with  what  seemed  to  me  a  very  labored  serenity. 
"  We  grew  up  together.  We  have  been  such  chums  and 
—  and  Randolph  seemed  to  —  to  need  me.  Don't  you 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       277 

see,  Uncle  Ranny  ?  "  There  was  a  piteous  note  of  appeal 
in  her  voice  which  only  seemed  to  lacerate  me  the  more. 
But  I  could  not  speak. 

The  sunshine  had  gone  out  of  the  April  afternoon. 
Waves  of  darkness  seemed  to  be  beating  over  me,  and 
the  strength  and  energy  of  a  few  minutes  back  had  oozed 
out  of  me  like  so  much  water.  So  weak  and  shattered 
did  I  feel  that  on  a  sudden  I  was  seized  by  a  panic  fear 
of  collapse. 

"  Please  leave  me  now/'  my  lips,  strange  cold  dead 
things  that  seemed  in  no  way  a  part  of  my  body,  brought 
forth  mechanically,  yet  with  heavy  effort.  "  It's  —  it's 
a  shock  —  we'll  discuss  it  later."  I  do  not  envy  those 
two  the  sight  of  my  face  at  that  moment.  I  am  pretty 
certain  Randolph  did  not  see  it,  for  he  turned  away,  but 
I  am  in  doubt  about  Alicia,  Her  eyes  were  brimming 
with  tears  and  she  came  toward  me  with  a  sudden  curious 
movement  of  the  hands,  as  though  she  felt  rather  than 
saw  her  way.  Then  abruptly  her  hands  dropped  to  her 
side  and  she  paused  and  turned  bock  sharply. 

They  left  me  then,  both  of  them.  I  remained  alone  — 
crushed,  stunned,  alone. 

And  suffering  agony  though  I  am,  there  is  now  in  me 
a  strange  new  sense  of  familiarity  with  suffering.  An- 
guish and  heartache,  thank  God,  are  no  longer  novelties. 
That  much  anodyne  the  sheer  business  of  living  does 
bring  to  one.  I  am  as  sensitive  to  them  as  ever  I  was 
in  my  prehistoric  days  of  ease  and  leisure  and  reclusion, 
but  they  are  old  acquaintances  now.  I  must  go  on,  hid- 
ing my  dolor  as  best  I  can,  working  for  the  sunny  comely 
lad,  Jimmie,  so  brilliant  with  promise,  for  the  grave 
sweet-faced  Laura,  replica  of  her  mother,  and  —  yes  — 
for  Randolph  and  Alicia,  I  cannot  rant  and  I  must  not 
betray  any  grief  or  make  a  spectacle  of  myself  before 
them.  I  must  carry  on. 


278       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Small  as  might  be  your  lamp,"  observes  the  sage  of 
Belgium,  "  never  part  with  the  oil  that  feeds  it,  but  only 
give  the  flame  that  crowns  it." 

A  poor  and  tenuous  oil  is  that  of  my  peculiar  lamp,  a 
petty  flame  and  a  murky  result.  But  such  as  they  are, 
I  must  guard  them. 

I  cannot  down  the  feeling,  however,  that  there  is  some 
mystery,  some  secret  reason  behind  this  lightning-like 
development  between  Alicia  and  the  boy.  With  a  leaden 
heart  I  must  record  it  that  he  has  proven  a  disappoint- 
ment to  me.  His  mediocrity  as  a  student  concerns  me 
less  than  his  general  tendency  to  shiftiness,  his  unsteady 
eye  and  his  heavy  drooping  nether  lip  when  he  tells  me 
that  he  "  spent  the  night  with  the  fellows  at  the  frat 
house ",  that  "  a  fellow's  got  to  associate  with  friends 
of  his  own  age  ",  that  "  he's  got  to  make  friends  ",  and 
so  on.  He  is  through  his  allowance  four  days  after  re- 
ceiving it  and  repeatedly  begs  for  more.  More  than  once 
I  have  caught  the  odor  of  alcohol  about  him  as  he  came 
in  late  at  night,  and  only  the  fact  that  he  is  Laura's  boy 
and  that  I  have  reared  him  has  made  me  condone  his 
many  offenses. 

Have  I  been  spoiling  him,  I  wonder?  Would  I  have 
condoned  and  tolerated  as  much  if  he  were  my  own  son? 
He  is  over  a  year  younger  than  Alicia  and  though  a  hand- 
some enough  lad  in  his  way,  I  fancy  I  see  too  much  of 
Pendleton  in  his  face  for  comfort.  His  father  also  was 
markedly  good-looking  when  he  married  poor  Laura. 
Have  I,  I  wonder,  been  rearing  another  Pendleton? 

But  Alicia,  the  bright,  the  fair,  the  radiant,  almost  a 
woman  now,  with  more  wisdom  than  I  ever  before 
found  in  women  —  how  came  she  to  do  such  a  thing  as 
to  engage  herself  to  him  ?  I  can  understand  his  possible 
infatuation.  But  a  girl,  I  had  always  believed,  learns 
her  woman's  arts  by  instinct.  How  can  she  be  so  blind 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       279 

to  the  boy's  character  and  defects?  Can  it  be  that  she 
really  loves  him?  Love,  love,  love!  That  blind  force 
that  is  said  to  move  the  stars  —  why  can  it  be  so  hag- 
gard, gaunt  and  painful  a  thing  in  the  ordinary  light  of 
day?  Woe  is  me  that  I  am  too  dull  to  comprehend  it! 
Like  the  blooded  horse  in  Weriher  that  bites  his  own 
vein  to  ease  his  overstrained  heart,  I  must  bleed  inwardly 
—  I  must  suffer  and  endure. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

SINCE  it  is  for  you,  Randolph  Byrd,  aged  seventy, 
that  this  vagrom  journal  has  been  written,  I  should  deem 
myself  derelict  and  insincere  if  I  did  not  convey  to  you 
in  every  detail  the  sort  of  creature  you  were  in  middle 
life.  If  you  fail  to  approve  of  your  progenitor,  I  shall 
know  that  I  have  been  exact,  for  I  fail  to  approve  of 
him  myself. 

We  are  at  war.  Every  fiber  in  me  should  thrill  to  the 
President's  declaration  of  war  against  Germany,  but 
here  I  have  been  calmly  turning  the  pages  of  "  The  D&- 
scription  of  a  Maske",  by  Thomas  Campion  (S.  Dun- 
stone's  Churchyard  in  Fleetstreet  1607).  It  is  a  beauti- 
ful volume  in  excellent  preservation,  one  of  five  brought 
in  by  a  young  man  who  is  going  to  enlist.  He  inherited 
them  from  a  grandfather,  possibly  an  old  fellow  like 
you,  who  held  them  precious.  I  bought  them  eagerly, 
for  I  know  where  I  can  dispose  of  them,  though  I  should 
dearly  like  to  place  them  in  my  own  shelves.  We  shall 
make  a  profit  on  them,  and  a  handsome  one.  That  is  the 
sort  of  thought  that  runs  through  my  head,  Randolph 
Byrd,  aet.jo,  and  that  is  the  sort  of  man  you  were  thirty 
odd  years  ago.  You  never  were  young  in  your  youth, 
my  fine  friend.  Perhaps  you  will  grow  younger  as  you 
grow  older. 

But  that  is  not  all.  Above  the  sensuous  pleasure  in 
the  books  and  overriding  the  thought  of  lucre,  is  the 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       281 

strange  romance  of  Alicia  and  your  namesake,  Randolph 
Pendleton.  It  blasts  all  my  previous  conceptions  of  ro- 
mance. Where  is  the  color  and  the  warmth  and  the  glory 
of  it  ?  I  had  expected  after  their  announcement  of  a  few 
days  ago  that  I  should  be  bitterly  engaged  in  watching  a 
glorious  April  dawn  that  would  blind  me  with  its  strange 
flames  because  it  was  not  for  me.  Instead  I  seem  to  see 
only  a  somber  murky  twilight  whenever  I  surprise  those 
two  in  private  colloquy.  The  mere  thought  of  the  possi- 
bility of  Alicia  loving  me  (fantastic  arrogance!)  was 
wont  to  irradiate  my  heart  and  to  make  me  positively 
light-headed,  so  that  I  could  scarcely  withhold  my  lips 
from  smiling  publicly.  But  my  young  cub  of  a  nephew 
seems  haggard  and  obsessed  by  care,  and  upon  Alicia's 
eyes  I  have  more  than  once  observed  traces  of  tears. 

What  can  be  the  meaning  of  that? 

Were  I  in  reality  a  parent  instead  of  masquerading  as 
one,  I  should  no  doubt  endeavor  to  fathom  this  mystery. 
But  you  see,  I  am  still,  as  always,  inadequate.  The  truth 
is,  I  dare  not  yet  talk  to  Alicia  about  her  love.  A  little 
later,  Randolph  Byrd,  a  little  later  —  when  the  pain  is 
more  decently  domesticated  in  my  bosom  and  will  not  fly 
out  like  a  newly  unchained  hound.  Meanwhile  is  it  not 
best  that  I  fasten  my  attention  upon  Thomas  Campion 
his  Maske? 

I  may  fill  a  little  of  the  interim  perhaps  by  telling  you 
what  I  had  passed  over  in  the  busy  silence  of  the  last  two 
or  three  years,  that  Fred  Salmon  has  attempted  to  make 
amende  honorable.  Fred  Salmon,  who  was  the  means 
of  my  losing  all  of  the  meager  capital  you  should  have 
lived  upon  in  your  old  age,  has  reappeared  with  a  com- 
mendable attempt  at  restitution. 

Begoggled  and  be-linen-dustered,  he  drove  up  to  the 
chalet  some  ten  months  ago  in  a  magnificently  shining 


282       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

car  of  bizarre  design  and  he  entered  my  door  booming 
like  not  too  distant  thunder. 

"  Hello,  Ranny !  "  he  shouted  out,  and  in  a  twinkling 
my  study  seemed  to  be  brimming  with  him,  inundated  by 
him,  overflowing  with  Fred  and  his  Salmonism.  "  Have 
a  cigar,  my  boy  — •  how  are  you  ?  —  how  is  the  family  ?  — 
how  is  the  book  business  ?  " 

"  Which  am  I  to  answer  first  ?  "  I  grinned  mildly. 

"  Never  mind !  "  roared  Fred.  "  I  see  you're  all  right. 
Ask  me  how's  tricks  with  me?"  He  was  so  obviously 
bursting  with  news  that  I  complied  at  once. 

"  Very  well  —  how  are  your  tricks,  Fred  ?  " 

"  Booming,  booming,  Randolph,  my  boy  —  and  kiting! 
Jack  Morgan  himself  wouldn't  blush  to  be  in  what  I've 
got  into !  Put  that  on  your  piano,  Randolph,  my  boy !  " 

Fred  is  one  of  those  who  likes  to  talk  of  Jack  Morgan, 
Harry  Davison,  Gene  Meyer  and  Barney  Baruch,  as 
though  they  were  his  daily  cocktail  companions.  This 
distant  familiarity  of  moneyed  men  gives  him  a  strange 
exuberance. 

"  Consider  that  I  have  tried  it  on  my  piano  and  like  the 
prelude,"  I  told  him.  "  Now  for  the  rest  of  the  opus." 

"O-puss!  Oh,  fudge!"  he  laughed.  "Gosh! 
You're  a  great  old  bird,  Rannie  —  great  old  bird !  Well, 
listen  here,  fellah  — •. "  he  ran  on,  wild  horses  could  not 
have  held  him  — •. "  you  think  I  like  to  brag,  don't  you  ? 
Don't  deny  it — 'you  know  you  do!  Well,  it's  God's 
truth,  Randolph,  I  do.  Some  folks  are  like  that  —  me, 
for  instance.  But  I  had  nothing  to  brag  about,  see? 
So  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  get  into  something  so  good 
it  could  stand  any  amount  of  bragging.  So  what  do  I 
do,  but  go  into  oil  —  oil,  Randolph,  my  lad  —  and  now 
I've  got  it  —  I've  got  it !  Rich  ?  Say,  I'm  going  to  be 
filthy  with  it,  Randolph,  positively  oozing,  crawling  with 
money.  That's  how  it's  with  me,  boy !  " 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       283 

"  Congratulations !  "  I  held  out  my  hand.  He  gripped 
it  hard.  "  And  what  do  you  do  with  your  millions  ?  " 
I  added  blandly. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  got  'em  yet !  "  he  shouted.  "  But  they're 
coming,  Randolph  —  they're  on  the  way,  on  the  way! 
I  hear  the  sound  of  their  dear  little  golden  feet  right  now 
—  sweetest  sound  you  ever  heard.  And  that  reminds 
me !  — "  And  on  a  sudden  he  opened  his  duster  and 
from  his  bosom  pocket  brought  forth  a  number  of  daz- 
zling yellow  certificates  with  gorgeous  blood  red  seals 
upon  them. 

"  See  these?  "  his  large  features  were  beaming  a  noon- 
day flood  of  generosity.  "  Remember  that  twenty-five 
thousand  you  put  in  of  your  own  spondulix  just  before 
Salmon  and  Byrd  went  blooy?  Well,  this  is  that! 
Here  is  a  thousand  shares  of  Salmon  Oil  to  cover  that, 
Randolph  —  and  some  day  you'll  cash  in  with  interest, 
my  boy  —  big  interest  too  —  and  don't  you  forget  it !  " 

I  stared  at  him  in  silence  for  a  space.  But  so  genuine 
and  sincere  seemed  his  air  of  righteous  triumph  that  I 
repressed  the  Rabelaisian  laughter  that  shook  me  in- 
wardly and  only  said : 

"  Thank  you,  Fred.     You're  a  —  white  man." 

"  Don't  say  a  word !  "  shouted  Fred,  thumping  me  on 
the  back.  "  It's  all  to  the  good !  " 

"  By  the  way,"  I  could  not  help  adding  after  a  glow- 
ing moment,  "  what  is  the  stock  selling  at  now  ?  " 

Not  for  nothing  am  I  the  partner  of  the  canny 
Andrews. 

"  Oh,  now,"  retorted  Fred  in  a  tone  somewhat  in- 
jured at  my  lack  of  romanticism  —  "  now  it  ain't  selling 
at  all  —  yet!  It's  not  issued  yet,  see?  We  haven't 
floated  it  yet.  I'm  giving  you  this  out  of  mine.  You 
can't  sell  it  for  a  year.  This  is  organizer's  stock.  But 
never  fear,  my  boy,  this  will  net  you  more  than  twenty- 


284       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

five  thousand  some  day,  or  my  name's  Hubbard  Squash !  " 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  hail  Fred  as  a  philan- 
thropist and  humanitarian  and  to  thank  him  for  his 
golden-hued  certificates, —  sweet  augury  of  fabulous 
riches  to  come.  I  keep  a  small  iron  safe  in  my  study 
now  to  house  such  precious  objects  as  the  Campion  Maske 
and  the  Caxton  that  I  bring  home  overnight  or  longer 
for  study  and  collation.  Very  solemnly  I  clicked  the 
combination  lock,  opened  the  safe  and  carefully,  with 
ritualistic,  almost  hieratic  movements,  I  reverently  put 
Fred's  certificates  into  one  of  the  little  drawers.  Fred 
watched  me  attentively.  That  ceremony  seemed  to  an- 
swer his  sense  of  the  dramatic. 

"Yes,  sir!"  he  nodded  with  great  satisfaction,  as  a 
period  to  my  movements.  "  You  have  put  away  a  little 
gold  mine  there,  my  boy.  And  you  don't  have  to  work 
it,  either.  I'll  do  that !  All  you'll  have  to  do  is  to  cash 
the  dividend  checks.  And  a  word  in  your  ear,  Ran- 
dolph:  If  I  'phone  you  and  tell  you  to  buy  more,  just 
you  do  it,  boy  —  just  you  do  it  I  "  Without  describing 
to  him  my  momentary  mental  reservation  I,  as  it  were, 
promised. 

"  And,  oh,  say,"  bubbled  Fred,  struck  by  a  sudden 
memory,  "  who  do  you  think  is  in  on  this  property  with 
me?  You'd  never  guess  in  the  world,  so  might  as  well 
tell  you !  It's  our  old  college  chum,  Visconti  —  the 
guinea  —  and  a  great  little  sport  that  guinea  is,  let  your 
uncle  Fred  tell  you.  He's  got  the  spondulix,  boy,  and 
he'll  have  more,  he  will.  He'll  strike  it  rich  on  this  deal, 
you  bet  your  hat,  and  he'll  be  richer  than  ever.  And 
say !  "  one  idea  seemed  to  follow  another  in  Fred's  brain 
like  salmon  running  over  rapids.  "  Hasn't  he  got  a 
peacherine  of  a  daughter,  the  old  boy?  Know  her? 
Great  girl,  Gina  —  wonderfully  good  sport!  She  and  I 
—  say,  we're  great  pals,  that  girl  and  I  —  cabarets,  dan- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       285 

cing  "  —  and  he  shook  and  quivered  in  a  sudden  frag- 
mentary movement  of  the  latest  dance  —  "  great  sport !  " 
he  concluded,  panting-  ponderously. 

"  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us ! "  I  heard 
myself  murmuring. 

"  Here !  What  you  praying  about  ?"  demanded  Fred, 
humorously  suspicious. 

"  It  was  an  invocation,  Fred,"  I  explained,  "  it's  the 
most  wonderful  thing  I  ever  heard.  Why,  you  and  Gina 
are  meant  for  each  other.  She's  a  fine  American  girl " 
—  I  almost  said  "  fina  Americana  girl,"  "  and  you  — 
you're  a  —  you  were  simply  created  for  each  other !  " 

"  Say,"  grinned  Fred  exultantly,  "  honest,  Randolph, 
da  you  think  so?  " 

"  I  do,  most  certainly." 

"  Well,  well  —  wait  and  see.  Stop,  look,  listen  — 
watchful  waiting  is  the  word,"  he  muttered  mysteriously. 
"  Ta-ta,  old  man,  I've  got  to  shoot  away  from  here. 
Now  remember  what  I  said :  Don't  buy  until  you  hear 
from  me,  nor  don't  sell  until  you  hear  from  me ! " 

"  Stay  to  lunch,"  I  begged.     "  After  all,  it's  Sunday." 

"  Sorry,  can't,"  he  returned  importantly.  "  Big  things 
brewing.  See  you  again.  Ta-ta !  "  And  he  was  gone. 

Such  was  the  recrudescence  of  Fred  Salmon  and  the 
certificates  are  still  in  my  safe  in  witness  of  it,  and 
greatly  to  my  surprise  they  have  a  market  value  now, 
even  though  I  cannot  sell  them.  Judging  by  the  curb 
quotations  the  golden-hued  leaflets  are  worth  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  to-day.  But  I  know  too  well  that  some- 
thing will  happen  before  the  year  is  up  and  they  will  be 
worthless  again.  How  should  it  be  otherwise,  since  they 
are  mine? 

Fred  Salmon  was  never  meant  to  be  a  whisperer  or  a 
negotiator  of  secret  treaties.  The  children  in  the  house 
that  Sunday  morning  could  not  fail  to  overhear  him  and 


286       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

ever  since  he  has  been  known  to  them  and  referred  to 
as  "  Brewster's  Millions." 

There  is  no  contour  to  life.  Life  is  chaotic.  When- 
ever I  thought  of  Fred  as  marrying  at  all,  I  had  mentally 
mated  him  with  Gertrude.  That,  in  my  opinion,  would 
have  been  an  ideally  eugenic  combination.  But  instead, 
Fred  is  obviously  attaching  himself  to  Gina  and  Ger- 
trude has  been  eighteen  months  married  to  Minot  Black- 
den,  the  rediscoverer  of  glass-staining.  They  live  hap- 
pily in  apartments,  about  a  mile  apart,  and  I  am  told 
breakfast  together  occasionally. 

And  this  notation,  oh,  my  aged  correspondent,  proves 
to  me  that  I  am  not  a  novelist.  For  were  I  a  novelist, 
I  should  doubtless  idealize  these  pictures  —  romanticize 
as  I  note  them.  Gertrude  —  my  old  cold  flame,  Ger- 
trude—  married  to  Blackden!  There  ought  to  be  a 
chapter  of  that  —  a  veritable  lyric  epithalamium  upon 
those  highly  modern  spousals.  Blackden  should  fix  them 
forever  in  a  series  of  stained-glass  windows! 

Instead  of  that,  my  feeling  is,  "  What  am  I  to  Ger- 
trude now,  or  what  is  Gertrude  to  me?  No  more  than 
Hecuba  to  the  Player  in  '  Hamlet.' '  Always  in  place  of 
romance,  reality  seems  to  break  in,  to  take  possession  of 
my  pen  and,  willy-nilly,  I  find  myself  recording  events 
as  they  happen,  without  varnish  or  adornment. 

But  if  my  pen  is  so  veracious  as  I  have  intimated  above, 
why  is  it  so  overproud  and  under-honest  as  not  to  record 
the  torture  that  persists  beneath  the  seemingly  calm  sur- 
face of  life,  the  agony,  the  anguish  of  seeing  Alicia  daily 
under  unaltered  conditions,  the  same  beloved  Alicia,  yet 
with  a  barrier  reared  before  her  to  which  the  screen  of 
the  Sleeping  Beauty  was  a  miserable  clipped  privet  hedge, 
to  which  Brynhild's  circle  of  fire  was  a  pitiful  conjuror's 
trick? 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       287 

Having  been  forced  by  the  pressure  of  circumstance 
into  ordered  and  natural  life,  I  am  now  maddened  by  a 
passion  to  straighten  it  altogether  out  of  its  odd  contor- 
tions and  entanglements.  My  soul  cries  out  to  live  nat- 
urally and  virtually  whispers  to  me  every  day  that  nat- 
ural living  is  the  first  requisite  to  constructively  social 
living.  I  see  heights  glimmering  of  service,  of  great  im- 
personal love  —  but  only  through  personal  love  lies  my 
path  toward  them. 

In  other  words,  I  am  now  aware  that  you  cannot,  like 
another  Aaron  Latta,  "  violate  the  feelings  of  sex."  A 
few  primal  instincts  there  are,  so  tremendously  impor- 
tant, so  powerfully  imbedded  in  the  human,  in  the  ani- 
mal organism,  that  to  violate  them  is  to  twist  and  crum- 
ple the  personality,  the  very  soul  within  one  —  life  itself. 
A  normal  man  must  wive  and  beget  and  rear  before  his 
imagination  is  disentangled  and  freed  for  the  constructive 
and  corporate  life  of  humanity  —  before  his  use  to  so- 
ciety is  real  and  stable,  reliable  and  not  a  sham. 

I  have  reared  children,  but  I  have  never  had  a  wife 
or  ever  begotten  any  children  of  my  own.  Alicia  em- 
bodies the  completion  of  life  for  me  —  and  Alicia  is  now 
pledged  to  some  one  else,  leaving  my  world  empty  and 
meaningless.  Come  what  will  and  avoid  me  as  she  may, 
existence  cannot  go  on  in  this  manner.  I  must  take  the 
risk  of  private  talk  with  Alicia  —  to  my  pain,  possibly, 
but  for  my  information  inevitably.  Is  she  in  reality  in 
love  with  my  nephew? 

"  Alicia,"  I  began  gruffly  this  evening  after  dinner,  "  I 
want  to  talk  to  you.  Will  you  come  into  my  study  in  a 
few  minutes  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  mine  searchingly  for  an  instant 
and  lowered  them  again  swiftly. 

'  Yes,    Uncle    Ranny,"    she    murmured.     There    are 


288       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

times  when  I  feel  I  could  jump  out  of  my  skin,  as  the 
phrase  is,  when  she  calls  me  Uncle  Ranny.  That  "  uncle- 
ship  "  has  been  my  undoing.  Yet  what  a  wealth  of  pre- 
rogatives it  has  brought  me ! 

I  chose  this  evening  because  somehow  all  the  world 
lay  tranquillized.  Gusts  of  wind  and  plumps  of  April 
rain  during  the  day  gave  way  to  a  great  stillness  even 
over  this  suburban  countryside,  where  the  rumble  of  the 
trains  is  never  absent;  but  the  humid  smell  of  the  newly 
stirring  earth  was  still  in  my  nostrils  and  our  little  lawn 
was  already  green  with  young  grass.  One  could  almost 
bear  the  sap  mounting  in  the  trees.  There  was  a  vernal 
feeling  of  peace  and  hope  in  the  house  —  in  my  very 
nerves. 

We  were  in  particular  good  humor  moreover  under  the 
influence  of  Jimmie's  table  talk.  That  boy  is  a  source 
of  constant  delight  and  bubbles  vitality  like  a  fountain. 
His  presence  in  a  room  positively  gives  the  effect  of  added 
light.  He  is  just  now  in  love  with  long  words  and  an- 
nounced that  he  "  would  give  me  a  composition  on  how 
k>  tie  a  necktie."  He  meant  a  demonstration  and  we  all 
laughed  heartily. 

"  Never  mind,"  murmured  Jimmie  cheerfully  to  him- 
self. "  Demonstration  —  I  won't  forget  that  one." 

Griselda  declares  he  is  exactly  as  I  was  at  his  age. 
But  I  am  certain  I  never  was  half  so  delightful. 

Laura  was  not  with  us.  She  is  at  a  boarding-school 
at  Rye  this  year  and  comes  home  only  upon  alternate 
week-ends.  Laura,  sweet  and  grave-faced  like  her 
mother,  is  never  as  hilarious  as  the  rest  of  us  often  are. 
My  nephew  Randolph  was  also  absent.  He,  I  suppose, 
was  dining  at  his  eternal  "  frat  house." 

It  occurred  to  me  how  happy  we  could  be,  just  the 
three  of  us,  Alicia,  Jimmie  and  I  —  plus,  of  course, 
Griselda.  Alicia  is  beautiful  now  with  a  tender  coloring 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       289 

and  movements  of  exuberant  gayety  that  are  like  wine 
to  the  heart.  When  her  face  is  animated  and  her  eyes 
flashing  with  merriment,  the  house  seems  charged  with 
the  very  elixir  of  delight.  Of  late,  however,  I  have  seen 
little  of  her  gayety  and  more  of  her  pensive,  silent  mood 
and  that  has  been  depressing.  But  to-night  Alicia  was 
her  old  lovely  self  of  the  days  before  the  engagement  and 
I  seized  the  occasion  to  discover  what  I  could  about  that 
puzzle. 

Alone  in  my  study,  puffing  at  a  cigarette  which  might 
have  been  a  string  of  hemp  for  all  the  taste  I  discerned 
in  it,  I  feasted  my  mental  eyes  for  the  nth  time  upon  the 
picture  of  Alicia  married  to  me,  greeting  me  as  a  wife 
upon  my  home-coming  at  night,  nestling  in  my  arms  for 
the  delicious  intimate  fragmentary  talk  of  the  day  lived 
through,  of  the  myriad  little  threads  that  take  their  place 
in  the  woof  of  life  only  after  the  beloved  has  touched 
them  with  her  love.  The  long  quiet  evenings  of  intimacy 
and  the  nights  which,  in  Goethe's  phrase,  become  a  beau- 
tiful half  of  the  life  span. 

Am  I  immoral,  O  Randolph  of  seventy?  Then  I  dis- 
mally fear  I  am  immoral.  For  these  are  the  pictures,  old 
man,  and  these  the  thoughts  that  produce  them  —  bad  as 
they  certainly  are  for  me.  For  Alicia  is  my  ward  —  my 
child.  And  whatever  happens  she  must  not  suspect  them. 
With  an  effort  and  a  corrugated  brow  I  dismissed  them 
as  I  heard  Alicia's  step  on  the  doorway.  Very  straight 
and  demure  she  was  as  she  entered,  bringing  with  her 
that  aura  of  infinitude  which  always  quickens  my  foolish 
pulses. 

"  Sit  down,  Alicia,"  I  waved  her  to  a  chair  with  an 
attempt  at  a  smile. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Uncle  Ranny?  " 

"  No  —  no  —  nothing  —  "  with  exaggerated  natural- 
ness. "  I  only  wanted  to  talk  to  you." 


290       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Wasn't  Jimmie  cunning!  "  she  laughed,  slipping  into 
a  chair.  "  He  says  he  is  going  to  be  a  writer  like  Mark 
Twain  and  let  you  sell  his  books.  This  environment,  he 
says,  is  enough  to  make  a  writer  of  any  fellow."  I 
laughed. 

"  Tell  me,  Alicia  —  "I  began  briskly  enough,  and 
then,  noting  her  eyes  upon  me,  those  deep  eyes  of  a  wom- 
an, I  faltered: 

"  Do  you  —  did  you  —  when  did  this  love  affair  be- 
tween you  and  Randolph  begin  ?  " 

Alicia  made  no  answer. 

"  Was  it  sudden  —  spontaneous  —  like  that  ?  "  and  I 
snapped  my  fingers,  still  clinging  to  the  spirit  of  lightness 
with  which  we  had  left  the  table. 

"  I  have  loved  all  of  them  —  always,"  she  murmured, 
gazing  downward,  "  ever  since  I've  been  with  them." 

"  I  know  that  —  so  have  I  —  so  do  I  —  "  and  my 
laugh  sounded  in  my  own  ears  like  the  grating  of  rough 
metallic  surfaces  together.  "  But  I  don't  go  marrying 
you  all  —  do  I  ?  That's  a  very  serious  business,  Alicia, 
this  marrying." 

How  dull  and  prosy  the  words  fell  upon  the  air  about 
me !  Does  middle  age  mean  being  prosy  when  you  mean 
to  be  alert,  bright  and  crisp?  Yet  I  feel  younger  than 
any  of  them. 

Her  face  lifting  slowly  and  her  wide-open  gray  eyes 
searching  mine  suddenly  struck  me  as  so  piteously  sad 
that  I  then  and  there  wrote  myself  down  an  ass  and  a 
cad  and  turned  away  to  hide  my  shame. 

"  I  know  it's  serious,  Uncle  Ranny !  "  and  her  voice 
was  like  the  muted  strings  of  a  violin.  "  But  don't  you 
think  I  understand?  Please  don't  be  afraid  of  me  — 
won't  you  trust  me  —  please?"  And  she  left  her  chair 
and  made  a  step  toward  me  with  an  imploring  gesture 
of  the  hands. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       291 

"  I  am  not  a  designing  woman,"  she  declared,  with  a 
half  smile,  and  then  she  ran  on  more  vehemently,  "  I 
know  that  Randolph  is  younger  than  I.  He  can  tire  of 
me  a  hundred  times  before  he  is  ready  to  marry.  Oh, 
we  are  a  long  way  from  marrying.  But  he  —  he  begged 
me  to  —  to  be  engaged  to  him  and  —  and  for  certain  rea- 
sons that  I  can't  tell  any  one,  I  agreed.  And  I'll  keep 
my  word  if  he  keeps  —  "  and  there  she  paused. 

A  solemn,  quite  maternal  tenderness  in  her  face  as  she 
uttered  those  words  so  fascinated  me  that  suddenly  I  saw 
her  anew  —  a  new  Alicia  —  and  with  a  strange  tug  at 
the  heartstrings  I  marveled  at  the  miracle. 

I  saw  her  suddenly  not  as  a  woman,  but  as  Woman  — 
the  mother  of  mankind,  the  nurse,  the  nourisher  of  all 
the  generations.  There  was  in  her  eyes  a  something 
rapt  and  sybilline  —  she  was  the  eternal  maternal  prin- 
ciple in  nature,  the  keeper  of  man's  destiny,  older  than 
I,  as  old  as  the  race  —  the  spirit  of  motherhood ! 

And  she  was  engaged  to  Randolph! 

Then,  as  though  emerging  from  a  maze,  I  blurted  out, 
"  You  are  not  in  love  with  him,  then  ?  "  .  .  . 

"Of  course  I  love  him !  "  she  returned  with  fire.  "  I 
love  everybody  in  this  house.  This  has  been  home  — 
heaven  to  me.  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  —  Oh,  you  Randolph 
Byrd !  —  why  are  men  so  blind  ?  I've  trusted  you  all  my 
life  as  if  you  were  God  —  and  you  can't  let  me  manage 
—  but  you've  got  to  trust  me !  —  I  can  help  —  I  must  — 
I  can't  tell  you  —  but  you'll  never  regret  it !  —  Oh, 
please,  Uncle  Ranny,  don't  press  me  any  more,"  she 
added  more  plaintively,  her  force  suddenly  leaving  her 
as  though  she  had  come  to  herself  with  a  shock.  A  gush 
of  tears  filled  her  eyes.  "  Don't  be  —  too  hard  on  me," 
she  faltered.  Her  hand  groped  for  the  chair  behind  her, 
and  she  sank  weeping  into  it. 

"  Alicia !     My   God ! "   I   cried   out,   choking.     Flesh 


292       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

and  blood  could  not  bear  it.  I  leaped  toward  her  with 
a  wild  impulse  to  take  her  in  my  arms,  to  comfort  her, 
to  pour  out  against  her  lips  the  truth  that  I  trusted  her 
and  loved  her  more  than  any  human  being  on  earth. 
.  .  .  My  arms  went  out  .and  all  but  engulfed  her.  But 
—  strangely  —  I  checked  myself.  A  powerful  inhibi- 
tion suddenly  held  me  arrested  as  in  a  vise.  Both  the 
curse  and  the  blessing  of  middle  age  were  inherent  in 
that  inhibition.  If  I  had  so  much  as  touched  her  then, 
I  knew  in  a  flash  of  quivering  intuition  that  the  truth  I 
had  perforce  so  carefully  guarded  would  be  spilled  like 
water.  If  I  touched  her  then,  I  was  lost! 

Hastily  I  retreated  a  step  or  two.  For  a  space  of  in- 
tense charged  silence  Alicia  sat  drying  her  eyes,  a  little 
crumpled  Niobe,  the  while  I  with  trembling  fingers  of 
2he  hand  that  was  on  my  table  fumbled  stupidly  in  the 
cigarette  box. 

"  Trust  you,  Alicia ! "  I  muttered,  with  an  immense 
effort  to  control  my  voice.  "  I  trust  you  beyond  any 
one.  You  are  mistress  in  this  house.  Do  whatever  you 
think  best.  I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  cry,  child,  for- 
give me.  You  —  you  have  answered  my  question. 
Now  don't  let's  have  any  more  tears  —  please !  " 

And  lighting  a  cigarette  automatically  I  now  ap- 
proached  her  and  stood  nearer  to  her. 

"  I'm  —  s-sorry,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  faltered. 

She  had  called  me  Randolph  Byrd  in  her  vehemence 
and  the  sound  of  it  was  still  reverberating  in  my  brain. 
But  I  was  back  to  Uncle  Ranny,  like  another  Cinderella 
in  her  pumpkin. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are,  Alicia?"  I  stood  over 
her,  puffing  and  chattering  against  time,  "  You  are  an 
old-fashioned  girl,  that's  what  you  are  —  with  emotions 
and  —  and  all  sorts  of  curious  traits,  when  you  ought  to 
be  discussing  Freud  and  complexes  and  the  single  stand- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       293 

ard  and  the  right  of  woman. —  "  the  right  of  woman,  I 
had  almost  said,  to  motherhood  irrespective  of  marriage, 
upon  which  I  had  heard  a  fashionable  young  woman 
descant  only  that  morning  in  the  shop,  apropos  of  a  book 
she  was  buying  on  the  Dark  Lady  of  the  Sonnets.  But 
I  paused  in  time. 

"  And  all  sorts  of  things,"  I  trailed  off  lamely. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  a  faint  sad  smile  wavering  on 
her  lips.  "  I'll  do  that  next  time.  I'll  deliver  a  lecture 
to  Jimmie  some  evening  on  the  CEdipus  complex  —  or 
why  it's  inadvisable  to  marry  your  own  grandmother." 

Clearly  Alicia  is  no  stranger  to  the  patter  of  the  time. 
But  what  a  glorious,  natural  creature  she  is! 

Her  touch  of  satire  after  her  tempest  of  emotion  rav- 
ished me  as  perhaps  nothing  else.  How  adorable  she 
was  in  all  her  moods! 

"  Do  it  now,  Alicia/'  I  cried. 

"  Now  —  I  must  go  up  and  wash  my  face,"  she  mur- 
mured. I  couldn't  bear  to  let  her  go. 

"  Where  —  where  is  Randolph  to-night  ?  "  I  clutched 
at  her  presence  for  another  instant 

"  I  don't  know,"  and  with  a  sudden  swift  movement 
she  glided  out  of  the  room.  If  only  she  knew  how  be- 
witching she  is !  But  perhaps  she  is  better  ignorant. 

One  thing  is  certain.  She  has  answered  my  question. 
She  is  not  in  love  with  Randolph. 

Dimly  I  perceive  a  faint  cohesiveness  to  the  swimming 
lines  of  the  picture.  For  some  reason  that  she  knows 
best,  that  seemed  good  to  her,  she  yielded  to  the  boy's 
importunities.  In  some  way  the  mother  in  her  is  in- 
volved. How  little,  after  all,  I  know  of  my  eldest 
nephew!  Alicia  doubtless  knows  more  —  much  more. 

But  this  is  the  query  that  rises  before  me  like  a  black 
pillar  in  the  roadway : 

Can  that  splendid  girl  be  deliberately  planning  to  sac- 


294       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

rifice  herself  for  some  real  or  fancied  good  to  the  boy  — 
hoping  the  while  that  by  the  time  his  dangers  are  past, 
he  might  tire  of  her,  and  release  her  plighted  word  ?  But 
suppose  he  shouldn't  tire —  as  indeed  how  could  he? 
Can  I  risk  her  happiness  in  that  manner  —  her  happiness 
which  means  to  me  a  thousand  times  more  than  my 
own? 

My  own  happiness  —  useless  to  think  of  that  now ! 
Whatever  Alicia  did  or  didn't  betray,  it  was  patently  ob- 
vious that  I  am  simply  Uncle  Ranny  —  as  ever  was. 
For  one  instant  of  excitement  I  was  Randolph  Byrd  — 
but  only  for  that.  Ah,  well,  no  use  to  dwell  upon  that 
bitterness  now. 

But  about  that  young  pair  —  what  would  I  better  do, 
my  aged  counselor?  Doubtless  at  seventy  you  will  be 
able  to  give  me  the  sagest  of  advice.  But  that  will  be 
too  late,  friend,  par  trap,  too  late.  I  must  watch  more 
closely  from  this  moment  on.  I  have  much  to  learn, 
Randolph  Byrd.  Of  this,  however,  I  am  certain:  One 
individual  may  with  nobility  sacrifice  his  life  for  another. 
That,  according  to  my  lights,  is  inherent  in  the  very  order 
of  the  universe.  But  every  one  is  entitled  to  his  or  her 
own  happiness.  Woe  and  shame  to  the  crippled  soul  that 
allows  another  to  maim  him  in  his  happiness.  Every 
human  being  has  the  unequivocal  right  to  his  share ! 

I  am  rambling,  I  see.  My  brain  doubtless  is  still 
awhirl  with  the  emotions  and  overtones  of  the  interview 
with  Alicia. 

The  headlines  of  the  evening  paper  over  which  my 
tired  eyes  stray  are  vocal  with  the  war  spirit,  with  news 
of  bridges  guarded,  of  preparations,  of  munitions,  of 
espionage,  of  ships,  troops,  volunteering!  But  the  im- 
port of  these  makes  hardly  an  impression  upon  my  mind. 
So  impersonal  a  thing  is  patriotism  juxtaposed  to  the  in- 
timate business  of  living! 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       295 

It  is  late.  I  must  go  to  bed.  Alicia's  fiance  has  not 
yet  come  in. 

To-day  arrived  a  letter  which  overshadows  all  else, 
which  momentarily  put  even  my  last  night's  talk  with 
Alicia  in  the  background  and  aroused  strange  sleeping 
instincts  of  alarm,  of  combat,  of  savage  alertness.  The 
last  thing  I  could  now  have  expected  or  thought  of  was 
this  letter  from  Pendleton.  The  brilliant  April  sun 
turned  darker  as  I  opened  it  and  the  warmth  went  out 
of  the  vernal  air,  turning  spring  back  into  winter.  This 
is  what  I  read : 

DEAR  RANDOLPH: 

I  am  writing  you  from  St  Vincent's  Hospital  in  San 
Francisco.  A  business  trip  that  brought  me  here  laid  me 
flat  with  typhoid,  and  all  my  money,  what  remained  for 
the  return  trip  to  Kobe,  is  gone. 

I  ask  you  to  do  me  the  great  favor  of  advancing  me 
three  hundred  dollars.  I  shall  be  out  of  hospital  in  a 
week  or  ten  days  at  most  and  I  want  to  return  at  once. 
Immediately  I  get  back  to  Kobe  I  shall  send  you  a  draft 
in  repayment.  You  must  do  this  for  me,  Randolph,  as 
I  have  no  one  else  to  turn  to.  Unless  I  can  get  back  I 
am  stranded  and  my  only  alternative  will  be  to  beat  my 
way  back  to  New  York,  which  is  the  last  thing  I  want  to 
.do.  Please  let  me  hear  from  you  by  wire  that  you'll  do 
this. 

Faithfully, 

JIM  PENDLETON. 

The  impudent  blackmailing  scoundrel!  His  only  al- 
ternative will  be  New  York.  That  is  his  threat,  and  as 
a  threat  he  means  it.  Yet  I  would  send  him  the  money 
willingly  if  only  I  were  sure  that  he  would  really  use  it 


296       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

for  passage  to  Kobe  or  to  the  devil  —  so  long  as  it  is 
far  enough  away.  But  what  security  have  I? 

Nevertheless  it  comes  to  me  sadly  that  I  shall  have  to 
take  the  risk  and  send  him  the  money.  To  have  Pendle- 
ton  in  New  York  again  —  at  any  cost  I  must  take  any 
chance  to  prevent  that.  And  arrant  blackmailer  that  he 
is,  he  understands  that ! 

What  could  he  do  if  he  were  here?  The  children? 
Though  all  minors,  -the  two  eldest  are  old  enough  to 
choose  and  I  believe  I  am  secure  in  my  feelings  as  to 
their  choice.  He  will  not,  moreover,  be  charging  himself 
with  the  responsibility  of  the  children,  if  only  I  seem 
indifferent  enough  as  to  whether  he  takes  them  or  not. 
Alicia  he  is  powerless  to  touch.  Oh,  I  have  learned 
something  of  the  weapons  needed  to  fight  such  a  beast. 
But  it  is  his  hateful  presence  that  I  cannot  stomach  the 
thought  of.  And  that  he  knows  also.  I  must  send  him 
the  money  and  take  the  chance  that  he  will  really  return 
to  his  accustomed  lairs.  It  will  be  an  uneasy  time  for 
a  while,  nevertheless.  But  too  much  ease  would  now  sit 
queerly  upon  my  shoulders. 

I  shall  send  him  the  money. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

I  HAVE  had  a  week  of  illness  and  it  has  been  the  hap- 
piest of  my  life. 

Alicia  has  been  my  nurse  and  no  one,  I  fervently  hope, 
will  ever  discover  that  the  larger  half  of  that  week  has 
been  sheer  malingering.  I  might  have  got  up  in  three 
days! 

'Tis  late  to  hearken,  late  to  smile, 
But  better  late  than  never 
I  shall  have  lived  a  little  while, 
Before  I  die  forever. 

The  Shropshire  Lad  was  perfectly  right  in  the  two 
middle  lines  of  his  quatrain,  but  oddly  wrong  in  the 
others.  It  was  not  late  to  hearken  or  to  smile.  It  never 
is  late.  Every  moment  has  been  heavenly  for  me.  And 
who  ever  stops  to  dwell  upon  Purgatory  once  he  has  en- 
tered Paradise?  I  am  very  certain  that  by  a  law  of 
spiritual  physics  past  suffering  is  wiped  out  without  a 
trace. 

If  "  The  Rosary  "  were  not  so  absurd  I  should  sing 
it  to  myself  over  and  over.  But  being  constructively  a 
convalescent  why  may  I  not  be  absurd?  Who  shall  say 
me  nay?  So  being  alone,  I  am  humming  the  tune  of 
"The  Rosary"  over  and  over  and  taking  my  pleasure 
in  it. 

The  hours  I  have  spent  with  Alicia  no  one  can  take 
from  me.  What  a  petulant  patient  I  have  been!  I 


298       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

chuckle  as  I  think  of  it.     It's  like  Felix  Culpa.     Happy 
grippe-cold ! 

Alicia,  let  us  say,  brings  me  some  broth  upon  a  tray. 
"  Will  you  be  comfortable,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  asks 
with  concern  in  her  voice,  "  until  I  come  back  with  the 
rest?" 

"  No!  "  growls  the  eccentric  uncle.     "  Not  a  bit  of  it. 
I  want  company  while  I  eat." 
Alicia  laughs  softly. 

"  But  who  is  going  to  prepare  the  other  tray,  while 
Griselda  is  so  busy?  " 

"  Don't  care,"  mutters  the  grouchy  invalid.  "  I  want 
company.  If  I  let  you  go  now,  will  you  bring  up  your 
own  luncheon  and  eat  it  here?  " 

"  But  that  makes  such  a  lot  of  dishes,  Uncle  Ranny." 
"  Don't    care.     I'm    obstinate,    fussy,    irritable,    sick. 
Have  to  be  humored.     Ask  the  doctor !  " 

Alicia  peals  a  delicious  silvery  laugh  and  then  I  see  a 
film  as  of  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  All  right  —  I'll  humor  you,  Uncle  Ranny.  But  I 
should  think  you'd  be  sick  of  -seeing  me  round  by  this 
time!" 

"  Am  sick,"  growl  I.  "  Get  a  colored  nurse  to-mor- 
row !  "  Whereupon  I  hear  Alicia's  laughter  all  the  way 
down  the  stairs. 

I  wonder  why  Griselda's  Scotch  broth  tastes  so  amaz- 
ingly delicious  these  days.  Is  it  possible  that  an  invalid's 
palate  is  more  sensitive  to  culinary  virtues  and  savors? 
I  must  ask  the  doctor. 

On  the  little  table  at  my  bedside  lies  the  Valdarfer 
Boccaccio,  printed  1471,  which  Andrews,  excellent  fel- 
low, had  bought  at  a  sale  in  my  absence  and,  thrice  ex- 
cellent fellow,  brought  up  for  my  delectation  when  he 
came  to  visit  the  sick.  I  once  spent  a  delightful  week 
in  the  British  Museum,  virtually  under  guard,  examining1 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       299 

that  rare  and  beatuii'ul  volume.  Now  its  only  replica 
in  America  is  near  me  and  I  ought  to  be  feasting  all  my 
senses  upon  its  vellum-bound  richness  and  beauty.  It 
was  once  the  property  of  a  Medici  and  has  delighted  the 
hours  of  popes,  princes,  dukes,  lords;  men  have  longed 
for  it,  have  treasured  it,  loved  it  as  men  treasure  and 
love  diamonds  or  women.  It  is  worth  a  moderate  for- 
tune. But  I  leave  it  neglected.  I  am  waiting  for  the 
rattle  of  a  tray  and  the  entrance  of  the  girl  behind  the 
tray.  What  would  Rosenbach  or  any  decent  bookman 
say  if  they  knew?  But  I  don't  care.  Boccaccio  himself 
would  have  approved  me. 

Alicia  enters  and  the  room  is  flooded  with  sunshine 
and  I  am  quick  with  life. 

"  Why,  Uncle  Ranny !  "  Alicia  pauses  alarmed,  tray 
in  hand.  "  Do  you  think  you  have  fever  again  ?  Your 
eyes  are  so  bright !  " 

"  'The  better  to  see  you  with,'  said  the  wolf,"  I  mut- 
ter and  turn  away. 

"  And  your  cheeks  are  red."  She  puts  down  the  tray, 
ignoring  my  nonsense. 

"  Let  me  feel  if  they  are  hot,"  she  persists  anxiously 
and  her  cool  fingers  barely  touch  my  cheek  which  I  has- 
tily draw  aside. 

"  I  have  no  fever,  I  tell  you,  Alicia,"  I  murmur  ir- 
ritably. "  I  am  ravenous.  Food,  child  —  food  is  my 
craving.  Sit  down  and  eat  —  and  let  me  eat." 

"  Very  well,  dear  grouchy  Uncle  Ranny,"  answers 
Alicia,  cheerfully  placing  my  dishes  on  the  invalid's  table 
suspended  over  the  counterpane  and  leaving  her  own  on 
the  tray.  "  It  shall  eat  to  its  heart's  content,  it  shall  — 
this  nice  chop  and  this  lovely  muffin,  and  this  luscious 
jam  —  greasing  its  little  fisteses  up  to  its  little  wristeses, 
the  dirty  little  beasteses !  " 

Whereupon  I  am  in  good  humor  again. 


300       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Have  you  looked  over  this  Valdarfer  Boccaccio  at 
all  ?  "  asks  Alicia  lightly,  by  way  of  making  conversa- 
tion. I  nod. 

"  Isn't  it  a  love?  "     I  nod  again. 

"  What  a  history  that  book  has  had  —  and  you  know 
every  detail  of  it,  I  suppose.  All  the  princes  and  kings 
who  owned  it  —  all  the  romance  it  has  accumulated  in 
nearly  five  hundred  years  —  don't  you?  " 

"Don't  I  what?" 

'Know  about  it?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Look  here,"  cries  Alicia  with  mock  anger,  "  don't 
you  go  and  become  a  blatant  materialist  thinking  only 
of  money  and  profits  —  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world. 
That  would  be  horrible,  Uncle  Ranny  —  when  I've  been 
adoring  you  so  abjectly  because  even  your  business  is 
lovely  and  intellectual  and  romantic ! " 

And  that  girl  is  betrothed  to  my  nephew  Randolph! 
flashes  through  my  mind.  Aloud  I  say  with  a  faint  grin 
meant  to  exasperate  her: 

"  Who  on  earth  cares  for  anything  but  money  ?  " 

That  she  very  properly  ignores  and  in  a  softer,  more 
serious  tone,  she  murmurs : 

"  I  came  across  a  little  rhyme  of  Goethe's  — '  Koph- 
tisches  Lied.'  Do  you  remember  it  ?  —  '  Upon  Fortune's 
great  scale  the  index  never  rests.  You  must  either  rise 
or  sink,  rule  and  win,  or  serve  and  lose ;  suffer  or  triumph, 
be  anvil  or  hammer.'  Isn't  it  lovely?" 

"  Yes.  Did  you  translate  that  in  your  head  as  you 
went  along?  "  I  ask. 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Ranny  —  and  you  have  triumphed  over 
Goethe's  wisdom.  You  have  always  triumphed  even 
when  you  suffered  —  you  have  always  been  you,  through 
all  your  troubles  —  Salmon  and  Byrd  —  Visconti's. 
You  don't  know  how  I,  too,  lived  through  all  those  things 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       301 

— -even  when  I  was  a  child  and  hardly  dared  to  speak 
to  you  —  I  was,  oh,  so  anxious  —  and  so  glad  when  you 
seemed  to  be  happy.  And  even  now  —  oh,  it's  been  so 
wonderful  to  watch  you!"  The  tears  fill  her  eyes  and 
she  turns  her  face  from  me.  "  That's  been  my  life." 

"  You  little  witch ! "  my  heart  cries  out  dumbly,  in  a 
very  ache  of  tenderness.  "  And  have  you  been  mother- 
ing me  in  your  thoughts  all  these  years  as  you  have 
mothered  the  children?" 

"No,  Alicia  —  I  haven't  triumphed,"  I  whisper 
huskily.  "  But  I  am  triumphing  now." 

She  turns  toward  me  again  with  a  smile  of  misty  ra- 
diance. By  an  effort  I  control  my  voice  and  launch  out 
briskly : 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you,  Alicia,  how  I  nearly  owned  the 
priceless  copy  of  his  Essays  that  Bacon  inscribed  and 
gave  to  Shakespeare  ?  " 

I  am  well  again  —  and  therefore  solitary.  It  is  little 
enough  I  have  seen  of  my  nephew  Randolph  during  my 
illness  and  little  that  Alicia  has  seen  of  her  fiance. 

This  being  a  Saturday  when  Randolph  is  at  home, 
Alicia  stopped  him  as  he  was  about  to  leave  the  house  to 
go  to  New  York,  "  on  business,"  as  my  "  conditioned  " 
Sophomore  put  it,  and  firmly  proposed  a  walk  with  her 
instead.  He  demurred,  the  egregious  whelp,  demurred 
to  a  walk  with  Alicia!  I  surprised  a  note  that  was  al- 
most pleading  beneath  the  bright  decision  —  Alicia  plead- 
ing to  be  taken  for  a  walk !  I  could  have  trounced  the 
boy  in  my  hot  indignation. 

They  departed  —  I  saw  them  depart.  They  were  in 
the  obscure  little  hall  and  my  door  was  open.  Alicia 
waved  her  hand,  smiling.  "  Just  a  wee  bit  walk !  "  she 
called  out  in  Griselda's  language.  She  could  not  have 
known  the  tug  of  longing  and  envy  with  which  my  heart 


302       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

and  spirit  followed  her  as  my  body  felt  suddenly  and 
disconsolately  heavy  against  the  chair. 

"  Have  a  good  time,"  I  waved  my  hand  back,  "  and 
greet  the  spring  for  me !  " 

The  birds  are  reappearing  and  an  enterprising  family 
of  wrens  are  already  building  urgently  over  my  window. 
Robins  are  courting  and  strutting.  The  trees  are  tender 
with  leaf  and  the  throb  of  spring  is  in  the  air  like  a 
mighty  force,  ceaseless,  slow,  careless,  yet  all-penetrat- 
ing. The  morning  sun  was  bathing  all  the  world  in 
the  very  elixir  of  youth.  A  fly  was  buzzing  madly 
against  the  pane.  I  felt  intensely  solitary,  poignantly 
alone. 

The  Valdarf er  Boccaccio  lay  opened  on  my  desk  —  but 
he  was  four  and  a  half  centuries  removed  from  this  sun- 
light. I  almost  hated  it  —  hated  all  the  beloved  objects 
about  me.  My  precious  books  were  dumb,  inert,  a  clog 
upon  all  the  senses.  With  a  heart  passionately  hungry 
I  craved  for  youth,  freshness,  activity.  I  seized  the  Val- 
darfer  Boccaccio  as  though  to  hurl  it  from  me.  Then, 
restraining  myself,  I  brought  it  down  on  the  table  with 
a  bang  that  nearly  shattered  its  precious  binding.  I 
laughed  ruefully.  I  determined  on  a  sudden  to  greet  the 
spring  for  myself. 

Griselda  came  bustling  as  she  heard  me  rattling  the 
canes  in  the  jar. 

"  You're  going  out  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes,  Griselda."  I  am  always  a  little  apologetic  with 
Griselda,  for  did  she  not  know  me  as  a  boy?  It  is  a 
part  of  the  instinctive  clutching  at  youth  that  makes  us 
respect  our  elders.  That  puts  them  at  once  in  their  own 
elderly  world.  Besides,  Griselda  is  always  in  the 
right. 

"  Then  why  did  ye  not  go  with  the  bairns  ?  " 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       303 

"  They  didn't  want  anybody  with  them,"  and  I  winked 
Spartan-wise  —  I  can  wink  at  Griselda.  Has  she  not 
spent  her  life  serving  me?  In  this  rare  world  you  can 
do  anything  to  people  who  love  you  enough. 

"  Havers !  "  muttered  Griselda,  with  an  enigmatic  toss 
of  her  old  head.  "  Then  see  that  ye  take  your  light 
coat." 

"A  coat  to-day?"  I  protested. 

"  Aye  —  a  coat  to-day,  young  man !  " 

"  Call  me  young  man  again,  and  I'll  don  goloshes  and 
fur  mittens,"  I  challenged  her. 

"  Child,  I  should  have  called  ye,"  murmured  Griselda, 
fumbling  at  the  hook  upon  which  my  top  coat  hung. 

"  I'll  put  on  rubber  boots  and  a  sou'wester  for  that," 
I  told  her  and  struggled  into  the  sleeves  as  she  held  the 
garment  out  for  me. 

"  I  wouldna  go  too  far  to-day,"  cautioned  Griselda. 
"  Ye' re  not  over  strong  yet." 

"  Just  a  little  way,"  I  mumbled,  ashamed  at  her  affec- 
tion and  care  for  one  so  worthless.  "  Thank  you, 
Griselda !  "  She  would  have  been  shocked  and  scandal- 
ized had  she  known  that  at  that  moment  there  was  a 
moderate  lump  in  my  throat  and  that  I  all  but  kissed 
her  brown  old  face. 

How  much  the  spring  had  advanced  during  my  days 
of  imprisonment!  The  grasses  were  assertively  green 
as  though  they  had  never  been  otherwise.  Birds  were 
twittering.  Neighbors,  or  opulent  neighbors'  gardeners, 
were  busy  at  their  flower  beds,  and  early  blooms  in  some 
of  them,  transplanted  from  boxes  or  hothouses  —  violets, 
hyacinths,  daffodils,  cried  forth  their  beauties  in  a  way  to 
make  my  breath  catch.  Queer,  hungering,  clamorous 
sensations  stirred  in  my  emaciated  frame.  How  well  I 
understood  at  that  instant  Verlaine's  unshed  tears  of  the 
heart  when  he  sang: 


304       IBB  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Moo  Dieu,  mon  Diea,  la  vie  est  la, 

Simple  et  tranquille 
Cette  paisible  rumeur — la 

Vient  de  la  viile. 

— Qu'as  tu  fait,  o  toi  que  voila 

Pleurant  sans  cesse, 
Dis,  qu'as-tu  fait,  toi  que  Yoila. 

De  ta  jeunea«e? 

That  bitterly  anguished  cry  of  the  heart :  What  have 
you  made  of  your  youth? 

I  strode  on  grimly  in  a  sort  of  nameless  anger,  past 
the  outlying  houses,  past  empty  lots  with  rank  grass  still 
awaiting  the  pressure  of  habitation,  until  the  f  utilely  laid- 
out  streets,  empty  of  all  life,  gave  way  to  open  country 
and  meadowland.  I  was  making  my  way  to  the  wood 
that  lies  between  the  meadows,  a  skirting  dairy  farm  or 
two,  some  scraggy  orchard  here  and  there,  and  the  great 
line  of  the  aqueduct,  the  most  Roman  of  our  enterprises, 
that  carries  the  water  to  New  York.  In  the  wood  I 
somehow  felt  I  should  be  taken  again  to  the  bosom  of 
earth  and  the  sickness  of  my  soul  be  healed. 

I  looked  up  at  the  sky  and  it  was  radiant  with  dazzling 
white  clouds  that  made  my  mole's  eyes  water.  A  merry 
breeze  fanned  the  newborn  earth  and  once  on  the  edge 
of  the  wood  I  caught  that  indescribable  whisper  of  trees 
which  to  me  is  the  earth-note,  the  age-long  speech  and 
intimation  of  the  planet  that,  at  all  hazards,  life  must 
go  on ;  that  it  is  decreed,  irresistible  and  sweet.  A  pang 
of  envy  stabbed  my  breast  at  the  thought  of  the  lovers 
abroad  to-day,  even  though  those  lovers  were  almost  my 
children,  I  for  one  find  it  difficult  to  keep  apart  those 
conflicting  emotions  of  the  heart.  But  Ho  parents  of  the 
flesh,  I  wonder,  encounter  no  similar  struggles?  Once 
among  the  trees  I  was  permeated  by  that  type  of  gentle 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       SOS 

melancholy  serenity  that  woods  induce.  Softly  I  strolled 
about  on  last  year's  pine  needles  and  leaves,  sodden  now 
after  a  winter's  snowfall  and  a  year's  rains.  The  cat- 
like tread  of  your  primeval  aborigine  returns  even  to 
your  civilized  boots  in  the  Woods  of  Westermain,  the 
stalker  and  the  hunter  throbs  faintly  in  your  blood. 

My  path  led  me  up  a  slope  where  the  trees,  youngish 
still,  like  myself,  were  no  saplings,  however,  but  towered 
in  a  slender  abandon  toward  the  patches  of  cerulean  sky 
overhead.  They  seemed  to  escort  me,  those  tapering 
maples  and  sycamores  with  their  feathery  foliage,  like 
a  troop  of  young  monks  still  fresh  from  their  novitiate, 
still  full  of  the  sap  of  life.  Somehow  trees  in  a  forest 
have  always  reminded  me  of  monks  chanting  litanies  and 
benedictions.  The  bass-note  of  all  their  murmurings  is 
invariably  so  solemn.  From  the  crest  the  land  drops  in 
a  declivity  and  thence,  soon  abandoning  the  woodland 
in  a  f  ring-e  of  bushes  and  underbrush,  rolls  on  to  the  mas- 
sive moundlike  line  of  the  aqueduct. 

On  a  sudden  I  heard  voices  beneath  me  a  little  way 
down  the  declivity.  And  peering  down  with  the  deli- 
cious thrill  of  alertness  that  returns  from  primitive  Ages 
even  to-day  among  trees,  I  perceived  Alicia  and  Ran- 
dolph with  their  bocks  to  me  in  earnest  cplloquy. 

My  first  impulse,  naturally,  was  to  hail  them  or  to 
make  some  sort  of  monitory  sound  that  might  apprise 
them  of  my  presence.  But  a  sudden  movement  of 
Alicia's  arrested  all  force  or  motion  on  my  part. 

Her  hands  shot  forward  and  with  a  vehemence  that 
was  obviously  not  loverlike,  she  cried  out  in  a  tormented 
voice : 

"  But  you've  promised  me  that  over  and  over  again, 
'Dolph !  How  many  times  "  —  she  unconsciously  shook 
him  as  she  spoke,  "  how  many  times  do  you  suppose  you 
have  promised  me  that  you  wouldn't  drink  and  wouldn't 


306       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

play  —  that  you'd  give  up  going  about  with  that  set  — 
that  you'd  leave  it  altogether?  How  many,  many 
times  ? "  she  reiterated,  with  a  pathetic  note  of  in- 
dignation. 

"  A  fellow  can't  quit  cold  like  that,"  I  barely  heard 
the  lad  muttering  —  "  got  to  have  some  friends !  " 

"  Friends !  "  Alicia  cried,  in  a  voice  of  bitter  exaspera- 
tion. "  Do  you  call  Billy  Banning  and  Tertius  Cullen 
and  Arthur  Bloodgood  friends?  They're  your  worst 
enemies  —  almost  criminals ! "  And  on  a  sudden  I 
realized  that  I  was  an  eavesdropper  and  a  flush  of  shame 
heated  my  cheeks.  I  was  about  to*  make  a  sound  but  my 
throat  was  dry  and  no  sound  came. 

"  Think  what  it  would  mean,"  took  up  Alicia,  "  if 
Uncle  Ranny  found  it  out  —  "  and  I  could  not  choose 
but  listen  —  "  all  that  he  has  been  to  us  —  father  and 
mother  and  everything  else.  Everything  in  the  world 
he  has  given  up  for  us,"  she  cried  with  quivering  lips, 
her  voice  thinning  with  passionate  anguish.  "  His  com- 
fort, his  leisure,  his  whole  life  he  has  sacrificed  with  a 
smile  for  us  —  for  you  and  Jimmie  and  Laura  and  — 
and  even  me!  Oh,  'Dolph,  'Dolph  —  do  you  suppose 
there  are  many  such  men  in  the  world?  And  you  want 
to  break  his  heart  by  drinking  and  gambling  and  Heaven 
knows  what  else  it  might  lead  to  ?  " 

I  write  these  words  with  shame.  I  had  no  business  to 
hear  them.  I  gathered  my  arrested  forces  to  compel 
myself  to  move  away,  when  I  heard  the  boy's  bass 
mutter : 

"  I  know  I'm  rotten,  'Licia  —  rotten  as  they  make  'em 
—  but  give  me  another  chance,  'Licia  —  just  one  more, 
sweetheart  —  I  tell  you  it's  —  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  bitter  interruption,  "  you  made  me 
those  promises  when  I  said  I  would  be  engaged  to  you  — 
what  have  they  amounted  to?  It  would  have  broken  his 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       307 

heart  if  it  had  come  out  then.  I  —  I  promised  the  Dean 
for  you  —  that  time  —  "  her  voice  charged  with  emotion 
so  she  could  scarcely  speak  —  "  and  now  —  " 

"  But  wait  —  wait,  'Licia,"  the  boy  suddenly  drew 
her  to  him  with  passionate  earnestness  by  both  hands. 
"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  this  time  it's  different 
It  isn't  for  myself  —  yes,  it  is,  though  —  but  it  isn't  for 
what  you  mean  —  not  for  anything  you  can  think  of. 
It  is  for  a  Purpose,"  he  explained  with  great  emphasis  — 
"  a  Purpose  —  I  can't  tell  you  —  but  —  " 

"  But  you  must  tell  me,"  insisted  Alicia,  searching  his 
eyes  tremulously. 

"  Can't  —  I  can't !  "  he  shook  his  head  vehemently. 
"  'Licia,  darling,  be  good  to  me.  I  must  have  it.  If  I 
only  had  about  fifty  dollars !  I  could  win  it  —  I  know 

—  I  am  awfully  good  at  poker  —  I  can  bluff  the  lot  of 
'em.     But  I've  got  to  have  ten  to  start  —  and  I  promise, 
word  of  honor,  I'll  never  play  again  —  word  of  honor, 
'Licia." 

It  was  too  late  now  for  me  to  betray  my  presence.  I 
was  contemptible  in  my  own  eyes,  ashamed,  yet  exultant 

—  I  hardly  knew  what.     My  frame  shook  with  a  cold 
rage,  with  shame  at  my  blindness,  and  yet  a  curious  sense 
of  vast  illumination  surrounded  me  like  an  atmosphere. 
I  moved  away,  hardly  knowing  or  caring  whether  I  made 
any  sound,  and  with  bowed  head  and  a  tumult  throbbing 
hot  and  cold  within  me,  I  walked  down  the  slope  through 
the  still  whispering  woods. 

What  I  had  long  fitfully  suspected  was  now  somewhat 
darkly  apparent :  In  some  manner  Alicia  was  endeavor- 
ing to  stand  between  the  boy  and  evil,  shame,  disgrace, 
sacrificing  herself  deliberately,  resolutely,  without  a  word 
to  me  —  because  it  might  "  break  my  heart !  "  Through 
an  empty  barren  landscape,  with  unseeing  eyes,  conscious 
only  of  a  welter  of  incoherent  thoughts  and  emotions,  as 


308       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

though  boiling  in  a  vacuum,  I  made  my  way  homeward. 
It  might  "  break  my  heart  1 " 

"  And  did  ye  walk  too  far?  "  Griselda  came  hurriedly 
to  the  entrance  hall  when  she  heard  me, 

"  No  —  no!  Greatest  walk  of  my  life,"  I  laughed  ab- 
sently into  her  face.  "  Feel  like  another  man." 

She  scrutinized  me  sharply  for  an  instant,  and  mutter- 
ing something  about  a  cup  of  cocoa  and  a  biscuit,  whisked 
away  to  the  kitchen. 

Dumb,  distraught,  I  fell  wearily  into  my  chair,  gazing 
vacantly  at  the  rows  of  books,  at  the  telephone  instru- 
ment, the  safe,  the  furniture  and  cushions,  at  all  the  ap- 
paratus of  living  about  me,  realizing  clearly  only  one 
thing :  that  it  is  the  simple  basal  things  of  life  that  alone 
tend  to  elude  one.  For  years  I  had  been  clinging  to 
them,  faint  but  pursuing,  but  still  they  were  eluding  me. 
Still  I  was  a  groping  elementary  learner  in  life.  Rage 
and  depreciate  myself  as  I  would,  I  felt  nevertheless  that 
I  was  facing  a  problem  momentarily  beyond  me,  but 
which  I  urgently  knew  I  must  solve.  If  I  had  been 
blind,  I  could  not  continue  blind.  Suddenly,  thought 
suspended  as  a  bird  sometimes  hangs  in  the  air,  I  seemed 
to  be  watching  instinct  taking  command,  instinct  over- 
riding thought  and  shame,  rage  and  grief  —  instinct  tak- 
ing a  pen  and  a  cheque  book  and  writing  with  my  hand  a 
check  in  Alicia's  name  for  fifty  dollars.  Why  was  my 
hand  doing  this  ?  A  slight  tremor  of  revulsion  shook  me 
before  this  trivial  deed  accomplished  —  and  I  made  a 
movement  as  though  to  destroy  the  cheque  I  had  written. 
But  I  did  not  destroy  it.  I  sat  gazing  at  it  stupidly,  as 
one  might  sit  before  a  puzzle. 

Griselda  at  this  point  entered  with  a  tray  bearing  cocoa 
and  biscuits. 

"  Oh,  thanks,  Griselda,"  I  murmured,  as  one  emerging 
from  a  trance.  "  By  the  way,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  men- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       309 

tion  to  Alicia  or — anybody,  my*  having  walked  this 
morning."  Griselda  uttered  a  brief  laugh.  Then  — 
"  Did  ye  see  them?  "  she  queried  abruptly. 

"See  them?"  I  repeated  dully.  "What  a  question 
for  you  to  ask,  Griselda!  If  I  had  seen  them  would  I 
ask  you  not  to  mention  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  ay  —  surely  —  I  am  a  fool !  "  muttered  Griselda, 
slowly  turning  to  leave  me.  But  her  expression  was  not 
that  of  one  chastened  in  her  folly. 

"  Is  Jimmie  in  the  house?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  Jimmie  is  across  the  way  playing  with  the 
Sturgis  boy." 

"  Very  well,  Griselda,     Thank  you." 

A  few  minutes  later  Alicia  entered  the  house  —  alone. 

I  rose  heavily  and  walked  toward  the  open  door  lead- 
ing to  the  hallway.  Her  drooping  dispirited  look  struck 
me  like  a  blow — my  radiant  Alicia  1  Even  her  pretty 
small  hat  that  I  admired  seemed  to  squat  listlessly  upon 
her  beautiful  head  —  beautiful  even  in  dejection.  But 
no  sooner  did  she  perceive  me  approaching  than  she 
looked  up  and  smiled  piteously. 

"  Oh,  hello,  Uncle  Ranny  —  "  but  the  usual  sparkle  in 
her  tone  was  sadly  lacking  — >  "  have  you  been  all  right  ?  " 
She  removed  her  hat 

"  Oh,  quite  —  thanks,  Alicia.  But  a  little  lonely. 
Won't  you  come  in  and  talk  to  me,  if  you  have  nothing 
better  to  do?" 

"  Of  course  I  shall,  you  poor  Uncle  Ranny  —  "  and 
her  tone  became  more  hearty.  "  What  have  you  been 
doing  with  yourself  all  alone  —  ?  "  And  I  realized  that 
endearments  were  trembling  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  and 
my  soul  craved  them,  but  I  interrupted  her.  She  had 
had  enough  that  morning.  And  the  endearments  of  pity 
would  have  crushed  me  utterly. 

"  Oh,  there's  Boccaccio,"  I  mattered,  "  and  puttering 


310       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

about  generally  —  at  which  I'm  an  expert.  Sit  down," 
I  added,  as  she  entered  the  study,  "Am  I  mistaken,  or 
did  you  tire  yourself  out  walking  too  far?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  dear  —  I  had  a  lovely  walk,"  she  answered 
brightly.  "  Don't  you  go  wasting  sympathy  on  me.  I 
feel  ashamed  of  my  robustiousness,  and  you  convalescing 
here  alone.  But  I  shan't  leave  you  alone  again  to-day. 
Wouldn't  you  like  me  to  read  some  Boccaccio  to  you  ?  — 
But  then  my  Italian  is  so  ferocious,  and  yours  is  so  beau- 
tiful, you'd  hate  me  if  I  clipped  the  vowels  too  short." 

She  had  thus  far  made  no  mention  of  Randolph. 

So  full  did  my  heart  feel  of  love  and  sympathy  for  this 
poor  beautiful  child  struggling  alone  with  her  problem 
and  pain  that  I  ached  to  take  her  to  my  heart,  to  beg  her 
to  confide  in  me,  to  let  me  share  her  troubles.  A  lump 
rose  in  my  throat  and  I  knew  that  one  movement  in  her 
direction  would  make  all  my  manhood  dissolve  in  tears 
like  a  child !  No,  I  must  not  —  I  could  not. 

"  Read  me,"  I  whispered  huskily,  after  a  pause,  "  two 
or  three  of  the  sonnets  in  the  '  Vita  Nuova '  of  Dante." 

"  Lovely ! "  cried  Alicia,  jumping  up  and  seizing  the 
book. 

"  A  ciascun  alma  preset"  she  began  —  " to  every  cap- 
tive soul  and  gentle  heart  .  .  .  greeting  in  the  name  of 
their  Lord,  who  is  love !  " 

I  did  not  listen  after  the  first  stanza,  I  endeavored 
only  to  still  the  tumult  in  my  brain  and  to  think  what  to 
do  for  Alicia. 

Somehow,  some  way,  I  must  put  an  end  at  once  to  this 
beloved  child's  torment  —  without  causing  her  pain. 

Three  sonnets  she  had  read,  or  possibly  four,  and  then 
she  paused  and  searched  my  face. 

"  Do  you  want  any  more  ?  " 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Alicia,  I  feel  brighter  already. 
I  think  that  will  be  enough  for  to-day.  By  the  way 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       311 

Alicia,"  I  went  on  rapidly,  fumbling  with  my  papers,  "  it 
strikes  me  your  allowance  is  too  small.  You  must  need 
dozens  and  dozens  of  things  that  cost  money.  Here  is 
a  cheque  for  fifty  dollars  I  wrote  out  this  morning  — 
but/'  I  added  half  absently  —  "if  you  need  more  I  can 
just  as  easily  make  it  a  hundred,"  and  I  laughed  a  trifle 
foolishly  —  oh,  I  could  act,  this  morning,  act  almost  as 
well  as  Alicia. 

She  gazed  at  me  intently  for  a  space,  silent,  alert  — 
a  flash  of  suspicion  —  and  then  with  an  ineffable  tender- 
ness and  a  great  relief  shining  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  you  darling  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  leaped  from  her 
chair  and  flew  toward  me,  pressing  both  her  hands  down 
on  my  shoulders.  Immobile  as  a  Buddha  I  sat  as  she 
kissed  me  on  the  cheek. 

"  But  do  you  really  think  you  can  —  give  me  all  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Alicia,"  I  laughed  with  the  bravado  of  Fred 
Salmon.  "  I  am  quite  sure  I  can.  What  are  uncles  for 
if  —  "  but  I  could  say  no  more. 

She  hung  over  me  for  an  instant  and  then  abruptly 
left  me.  She,  too,  was  fearful  of  saying  more.  But 
not  for  the  same  reason  —  oh,  not  for  the  same  reason ! 

All  that  day,  Alicia,  as  I  could  not  help  overhearing, 
was  vainly  endeavoring  to  reach  Randolph  on  the  tele- 
phone in  New  York.  She  rang  the  fraternity  house. 
She  tried  the  homes  of  his  friends.  But  all  to  no  pur- 
pose. Randolph  was  not  to  be  found.  And  that  eve- 
ning Alicia  mounted  the  stairs  to  her  room  with  a  sort 
of  drooping,  febrile  anxiety,  with  an  anxious  unnatural 
gayety. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ONLY  some  fifteen  hours  have  passed  and  die  world  is 
changed  to  a  dazzling  brilliance. 

Alicia  would  not  leave  me,  poor  overwrought  child. 
She  has  refused  to  go  to  bed  and  insisted  upon  staying 
near  me,  upon  "  meeting  the  dawn  "  with  me.  She  now 
lies  stretched  upon  my  couch,  covered  over  with  a  rug, 
and  she  has  just  been  overtaken  by  slumber. 

And  her  presence  there  under  my  eyes,  Randolph  Byrd, 
is  the  nearest  taste  of  Heaven  that  you  and  I  have  known, 
or  possibly  ever  will  know,  in  this  life.  It  is  dawn  enough 
for  me  now  and  for  you,  my  friend  —  a  dawn  so  re- 
splendent that  I  for  one  shall  never  desire  a  brighter. 

And  since  there  can  be  no  more  sleep  for  me  this  night, 
and  since  this  may  be  the  last  entry  for  you  in  these  me- 
moirs, for  many  a  day,  if  not  forever,  I  shall  endeavor 
to  still  the  flying  heart,  the  mad  exultation  rioting  in  my 
veins,  by  noting  down  for  you,  how  sketchily  and  in- 
coherently soever,  the  momentous  occurrences  of  the 
youngest  hours. 

It  came  about  —  but  has  it  come  about?  Or  is  this 
some  mad  dream  from  which  I  shall  wake  to  the  old 
somber  reality?  How  can  a  dark  turbid  current  so  sud- 
denly bring  one  out  into  a  flashing,  sparkling,  sunlit  la- 
goon, overhung  with  a  verdure  so  rich  and  lustrous  it 
would  seem  to  have  come  fresh  from  the  Creator's  hand  ? 
Do  I  hear  birds  piping  in  wondrous  music,  or  do  I  imag- 
ine it  ?  But  I  began  by  telling  you  I  should  be  incoherent. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       313 

It  must  have  been  some  time  past  midnight  when  I 
screened  the  fire,  put  out  the  lights  and  wearily,  in  dark- 
ness, made  my  way  up  the  stairs. 

The  fire  had  unaccountably  and  fitfully  smoked  to- 
night and  I  remember  the  last  thing  I  did  was  to  take 
out  Fred  Salmon's  gold-colored  certificates  from  the  safe, 
examine  them  with  smarting  eyes  and  then  gaze  in  sleepy 
astonishment  at  the  quotation  of  Salmon  Oil  in  the  news- 
papers. According  to  that  the  shares  were  now  worth 
twenty-six  thousand  dollars!  It  seemed  incredible,  ab- 
surd. And  the  year  was  up  and  I  might  sell  the  stuff. 
Like  a  miser  who  has  nothing  else  in  life  to  look  for,  I 
gazed  spellbound  at  those  securities  in  whose  security  I 
even  now  could  not  believe.  But  unlike  the  miser  of  fic- 
tion, but  like  my  dull,  stupid  self,  I  neglected  to  replace 
the  crackling  papers,  though  I  did  put  the  Valdarfer  Boc- 
caccio in  and  closed  the  safe. 

In  the  upper  passageway,  I  distinctly  recall  walking  on 
tiptoe  so  that  Alicia  might  not  be  disturbed.  Was  it 
hallucination  I  wonder,  or  did  I  actually  hear  like  a  sigh- 
ing whisper  through  the  darkness, 

"  Good  night,  Uncle  Ranny !  " 

I  am  always  imagining  her  voice  and  her  gestures  in 
my  brain.  I  must  ask  her  when  she  wakes  up.  At  any 
rate,  that  mysterious  whisper  it  was,  or  the  hallucination 
of  a  whisper,  that  stirred  me  into  wakefulness  again.  I 
began  to  undress  and  paused,  realizing  that  I  was  now 
too  wakeful  to  sleep.  I  donned  a  dressing  gown  over 
my  waistcoat,  adjusted  the  light  and  lay  down  upon  the 
bed  with  Baudelaire's  "  Fleurs  de  Mai  "  in  my  hand.  A 
little  of  Baudelaire  had  the  effect  upon  my  mind  of  rich 
food  upon  a  furred  tongue.  Why,  I  wondered,  do  I 
keep  that  gloomy  book  upon  my  bedside  table  ?  I  threw 
it  down  in  disgust  and  took  up  a  volume  of  Florio's  Mon- 
taigne instead. 


314       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

To  read  and  enjoy  Montaigne  is  a  certain  sign  of 
middle  age.  I  have  long  enjoyed  Montaigne.  A  French 
verse  to  the  effect  that  "  a  peaceful  indifference  is  the 
sagest  of  virtues  "  came  into  my  head  and  with  sudden 
violence  I  threw  away  Montaigne. 

I  was  not  middle-aged.  I  was  not  indifferent  The 
heart  of  frustrated  youth  in  me  was  crying  out  for  life 
and  love!  Alicia  was  two  doors  away  from  me.  She 
did  not  love  my  nephew.  Could  I  not,  if  I  plucked  up 
energy  and  resolution,  make  her  love  me?  Was  I  then 
so  irrevocably  Uncle  Ranny?  I  leaped  up  feverishly, 
lifted  the  shade  and  looked  out  upon  the  blinking  stars. 
Their  message  was  a  very  simple  one.  From  Virgo  to 
Cassiopeia,  from  the  Pole  star  to  the  farthest  twinkler 
they  seemed  to  say : 

"The  trifling  planet  Earth  is  yours — if  you  know 
how  to  use  it." 

With  a  muffled  tread  I  paced  the  room  agitatedly. 
This  affair  between  Alicia  and  Randolph  was  absurd. 
Randolph  was  unfit  for  the  very  thought  of  marriage. 
A  wise  parent  would  know  how  to  deal  with  the  situa- 
tion. But,  alas!  I  was  neither  wise  nor  a  parent. 
Nevertheless  I  must  find  a  way  of  liquidating  this  busi- 
ness not  later  than  to-morrow.  It  could  not  go  on.  The 
lamplight  showed  me  in  my  dull  perplexity  and  I  turned 
it  off  angrily  and  again  threw  myself  on  the  bed  to  think 
in  Egyptian  darkness. 

On  a  sudden  I  heard  a  low  murmur  of  voices  without. 
It  is  seldom  that  voices  are  heard  late  at  night  in  our 
secluded  situation.  Possibly  the  policeman  exchanging 
comments  on  the  night  with  some  solitary  passer-by.  A 
moment  later,  however,  I  heard  a  key  inserted  in  a  lock 
and  a  door  open.  My  nephew  Randolph  returning  home 
at  last!  Then  to-morrow  would  be  the  same?  I  asked 
myself.  Alicia  would  turn  over  the  cheque  to  him  and 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       315 

all  would  go  on  as  before?  No,  no,  that  could  not  be. 
Yet  what  could  I  do?  Turn  the  boy  adrift,  Laura's  boy, 
and  revolt  Alicia's  spirit  —  make  her  hate  me?  What  a 
horrible  impasse! 

I  listened  for  Randolph's  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  but 
there  was  no  sound.  Suppose  I  were  to  call  him  into 
my  room  and  tell  him  that  I  knew  all  —  appeal  to  his 
better  nature.  Was  not  that  what  parents  were  obliged 
to  do  the  world  over?  I  should  talk  tenderly  to  the  boy 

—  but  in  my  heart  I  own  I  did  not  feel  tenderly  toward 
him. 

Still  there  was  no  sound  of  steps  on  the  stairs. 

The  black  darkness  made  the  tension  of  waiting  intol- 
erable. I  switched  on  the  light  and  automatically  made 
toward  the  door.  Then  all  at  once  the  low  hum  of  voices 
overtook  me.  Had  Alicia  descended  to  meet  him?  No 

—  I  had  not  heard  her  door.     Surely  Randolph  in  his 
sober  senses  would  not  bring  friends  of  his  to  the  house 
at  this  hour!     I   looked  at  my  watch;  it  was  twenty 
minutes  past  two! 

Noiselessly  I  opened  my  door  and  in  the  soft  moc- 
casin slippers  I  was  wearing  tiptoed  down  the  hall.  At 
the  top  of  the  stairs  I  paused  to  listen.  Primeval  in- 
stincts of  alertness  stirred  within  me.  My  heart  was 
throbbing  against  my  throat  and  I  literally  felt  my  eyes 
dilating  in  the  darkness.  I  found  myself  smiling  at  the 
primitive  machinery  that  is  set  in  motion  within  us,  slum- 
ber though  it  might,  at  the  slightest  provocation.  Still 
treading  softly  I  descended  the  stairs. 

No  light  was  showing  anywhere.  The  darkness  was 
absolute.  What  under  heaven  could  be  the  meaning  of 
that?  The  primitive  instinct  of  the  stalker  was  again  to 
the  fore.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  I  paused.  Sounds 
were  audible.  They  came  from  my  study! 

"  Upon  my  word !  "  I  thought  with  indignation.     The 


816       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

young  man  could  not  possibly  be  in  his  right  mind.  The 
study  door  was  closed,  but  through  the  slightest  of  chinks 
between  door  and  lintel,  left  evidently  to  obviate  the  noise 
of  the  clicking  fixture,  I  perceived  a  faint,  fitful  spot  of 
light  flickering  about,  like  the  light  of  Tinker  Bell  in 
"Peter  Pan." 

With  a  slight  pressure  I  pushed  the  door  gently  ajar. 

Randolph,  with  a  small  spotlight  in  his  hand,  was 
standing  at  my  desk.  Except  for  the  circle  of  light  about 
him  the  room  was  in  darkness.  The  rim  of  his  hat  shad- 
ing his  eyes,  he  was  scanning  the  Salmon  Oil  certifi- 
cates ;  with  his  trembling  left  hand  he  was  counting  them, 
under  the  quivering  spot  of  light  proceeding  from  his 
right. 

"  Eight  —  nine  —  ten !  "  I  heard  him  breathe  heavily. 
"A  hundred  each!" 

I  stood  stock-still,  overwhelmed,  scarcely  breathing, 
frozen  with  a  sickening  shame  of  horror.  The  meaning 
of  it  was  so  crushingly  plain ! 

"  Take  two  of  them !  "  I  heard  a  mysterious  hoarse 
whisper  coming  from  the  window.  "  Put  the  rest  back. 
He'll  never  miss  'em." 

"  All  right,"  whispered  Randolph,  with  quaking 
huskiness. 

"  Give  'em  to  me !  "  came  from  the  window. 

My  power  of  motion  at  that  instant  suddenly  flooded 
back  into  my  muscles.  I  lifted  my  hand  as  though  fear- 
ful of  rending  the  darkness,  pushed  the  switch-button  in- 
side the  door  and  the  room  was  bathed  in  light  from  the 
single  lamp  on  my  table  —  intense  after  the  pregnant 
darkness. 

Then  a  vision  that  sent  a  chill  shock  through  my  nerves 
and  stunned  all  senses  left  me  gaping  —  petrified. 

In  the  window  was  framed  the  abhorrent,  dilapidated 
parody  of  the  face  of  Pendleton! 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       317 

It  could  not  be!  was  the  thought  sluggishly  struggling 
through  my  numbed  brain.  It  was  a  nightmare. 

Then  a  sudden  sharp  cry  threw  me  into  a  momentary 
tremor.  I  wheeled  about. 

Alicia,  fully  dressed,  with  one  hand  to  her  eyes,  was 
leaning  against  the  doorpost ! 

Without  speaking,  I  automatically  bounded  forward 
to  the  window.  The  muffled  sound  of  heavy  steps  run- 
ning on  the  turf  fell  upon  my  ears  and  dimly,  through 
the  starlit  darkness,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  stooping 
bulk  of  a  large  man  receding  down  the  slope,  toward 
the  brook. 

Had  my  senses  been  tricking  me  or  had  I  really  seen 
the  face  of  Pendleton? 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  I  cried  fiercely  to  Randolph,  still  hang- 
ing stupefied  and  immobile,  with  blank  terror  upon  his 
features,  over  my  desk. 

He  made  no  answer. 

"  Sit  down  over  there ! "  I  commanded  sharply.  As 
one  under  the  influence  of  a  drug  or  a  hypnotic  spell,  the 
boy  loosely  moved  to  obey,  but  remained  standing  irreso- 
lute at  my  chair,  a  mass  of  helplessness,  his  head  drop- 
ping limply  on  his  chest. 

Anger  and  pain  struggling  for  mastery  within  me,  I 
turned  abruptly  to  Alicia. 

"  Haven't  you  been  asleep,  child  ?  Better  go  upstairs 
—  please  go,"  I  entreated. 

"  No,  I  won't ! "  she  retorted  with  a  cry  of  passionate 
vehemence  and  with  a  rush  she  flung  past  me  toward 
Randolph. 

"  So  that  is  what  you  wanted  the  money  for !  "  —  she 
shook  with  the  fury  of  her  emotion  —  "  to  give  to  that 
brute !  And  he  has  got  you  —  got  hold  of  you  —  come 
back  to  make  a  thief  of  you !  " 

Then  it  was  Pendleton.     I  was  not  mistaken! 


318       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  I  engaged  myself  to  you,  you 
poor  contemptible  weakling!  Do  you  suppose  I  am  in 
love  with  you?  "  Her  tears  gushed  forth  and  she  rocked 
her  arms  passionately.  "Love  a  thing  like  you?  I 
wanted  to  keep  your  weakness  and  your  spinelessness 
from  Uncle  Ranny  —  to  save  him  from  the  pain  he  is 
suffering  now  because  you're  a  thief!  You  promised, 
promised  me  over  and  over  you'd  keep  straight  — 
wouldn't  gamble  —  wouldn't  drink  —  over  and  over  - 
she  wailed  with  the  anguished  note  that  drags  on  tears  — 
"  and  this  is  what  you've  got  to!  Stealing!  And  from 
Uncle  Ranny  of  all  people,  who's  been  father  and  mother 
to  you  —  everything  in  the1  world!  If  I  didn't  adore 
him  more  than  anybody  on  earth,  do  you  think  I  would 
have  looked  at  you  ?  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  could  beat  you  to 
a  pulp ! "  She  lifted  her  hands  on  high  and  for  one 
fascinated  instant  I  actually  thought  she  would. 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel  sure  of  never  seeing  your  face 
again !  "  she  concluded,  collapsing  with  her  own  anger. 

Slowly,  under  the  blows  of  her  words,  the  boy  lifted 
his  eyes,  eyes  smoldering  with  shame,  with  abject  misery, 
with  the  hopeless  pathos  of  the  weak. 

"  Then  you  never  cared  a  damn  ?  "  he  muttered. 

"  No  —  I  never  cared  a  damn  —  in  your  sense !  "  she 
cried,  forgetting  all  restraint  in  her  passionate  exaspera- 
tion. "  And  I  never  can  and  never  will  now.  I'd  hoped 
you'd  become  a  man.  But  I'm  through  with  you  for 
good !  " 

I  had  been  standing  aside,  awed,  involuntarily  spell- 
bound with  the  aloofness  and  indecision  of  surprise.  I 
now  made  a  move  toward  Alicia,  to  lead  her  away.  "  If 
I  didn't  adore  him  more  than  anybody  on  earth."  I 
ought  not  to  have  heard  that.  But  I  had  and  my  pulses 
began  to  throb  anew. 

A  sudden  loud  rapping  at  the  door,  however,  startled 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       319 

us  all  out  of  our  tempest  of  pain  into  a  common  alert- 
ness. I  glanced  at  the  huddled  form  of  Randolph,  at 
the  still  quivering  figure  of  Alicia. 

"  I'll  see  who  it  is !  "  I  muttered,  moving  toward  the 
hall.  Alicia  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  and  then  ran 
out  behind  me  and  disappeared  in  the  darkened  dining 
room. 

"  What,"  it  flashed  through  my  mind  as  I  unlocked 
the  door,  "  what  if  Pendleton  was  caught  —  the  father 
of  Laura's  children,  snatched,  like  the  thief  he  was,  in 
his  flight?" 

And  I  felt  the  prickling  sensation  of  sweat  against  my 
clothes  as- 1  swung  open  the  door. 

The  mounted  policeman,  Halloran,  was  looming  in  the 
doorway.  He  was  Clutching  by  the  arm  a  hulking  figure 
in  a  shabby  top  coat,  a  man,  a  man  panting  like  a  beast, 
who  was  shrinkingly,  miserably  averting  his-  face  from 
the  light 

"  I  saw  this  man  running  away  from  your  house  just 
now,"  began  Halloran  briskly.  "  Mighty  suspicious,  he 
looked  —  running  away  this  hour  of  the  night.  Picked 
him  up  — •  to  see  if  they  was  anything  wrong." 

I  peered  at  the  indistinct  features  qf  the  man. 

It  was  the  dissipated  ashen-white,  almost  leprous  face 
of  Pendleton, 

With  an  incredible  swiftness  I  felt  my  mental  ma- 
chinery working.  Something  must  be  done.  All  hate 
of  him  and  all  fear  of  him  vanished  from  my  mind  be- 
fore a  faint  lucid  beam  of  a  sort  of  indolent  humor. 

"That  you,  Jirn?"  I  queried,  peering  more  closely. 
"  Hello,  Jim ! "  I  greeted  him.  in  a  jocund  undertone, 
bringing  my  voice  r&und,  with  a  great  effort,  to  a  pitch 
of  naturalness. 

"  No,  officer,"  I  went  on  glibly.  "  Nothing  wrong. 
This  man  was  here  on  a  business  matter.  Left  late. 


320       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

Running  for  a  train,  I  suppose  —  weren't  you,  Jim?" 
"  Yes,"  came  hoarsely  from  Pendleton,  and  a  quiver  of 
triumph  ran  down  my  spine. 

"  There'll  be  a  train  —  let's  see  —  "I  fumbled.  The 
policeman  glanced  quizzically  from  one  to  the  other  of 
us,  then  shrewdly  interposed : 

"  Train  to  N'York  at  three-seven.  No  use  running," 
he  grinned.  My  ear,  hypersensitive  at  that  moment, 
seemed  still  to  catch  a  note  of  doubt  in  the  zealous  con- 
stable's voice.  And  when  I  longed  to  fling  out,  in  the 
words  of  the  ballad  — 

He  is  either  himsel'  a  devil  frae  hell, 
Or  else  his  mother  a  witch  maun  be, 

I  heard  myself  saying  calmly,  "  Thank  you,  officer." 
Then  to  Pendleton: 

"  Don't  you  want  to  come  in  and  spend  the  night  after 
all,  Jim?" 

"  No,  I  better  go,"  mumbled  Pendleton,  edging  away. 

"  Sorry  to  have  troubled  you,  gentlemen,"  apologized 
Halloran  suavely.  "  But  you  know  —  so  many  rob- 
beries in  the  suburbs  —  orders  is  to  look  out  extry  sharp. 
Good  night  to  ye,  Mr.  Byrd.  Good  night,  sir,"  he  nodded 
with  ill-concealed  contempt  at  Pendleton. 

"  Good  night,"  muttered  Pendleton  and  slouched  off 
heavily  down  the  gravel  path. 

"  No  harm  done,"  grinned  Halloran,  looking  queerly 
after  his  recent  prisoner.  "  But  I  could  have  sworn  —  " 
I  interrupted  him  with  a  boisterous  laugh. 

"  Not  at  all,  officer.  Sorry  you  had  the  trouble  — 
many  thanks  for  your  watchfulness.  See  you  to- 
morrow." 

"  All  right ! "  he  responded  with  smart  alacrity. 
"  Good  night,  sir."  I  closed  the  door. 

In  the  room  the  lad  Randolph  sat  alone,  somewhat 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       321 

straighter  now,  gazing  before  him.     He  must  have  heard 
the  colloquy  at  the  door. 

"  Well,  Randolph,"  I  approached  him  quietly,  "  now 
what  do  you  want  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  space.     Finally  he  spoke : 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me,  Uncle  Ranny  ?  " 

My  anger  against  him  had  subsided.  I  saw  only  the 
frail  young  mortal,  Laura's  son,  whom  I  had  under- 
taken to  make  a  man  of  —  and  I  had  failed ! 

"  What  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do  with  you  ?  "  I 
queried  gently.  There  was  no  longer  even  rancor  in 
my  heart. 

"  Put  me  away,  I  guess,"  he  answered  dully.  "  That's 
what  I  deserve." 

"When  did  you  first  meet  your  —  your  father?"  I 
found  myself  wincing  at  the  word,  but  after  all  Pendle- 
ton  was  his  father. 

"  About  three  weeks  ago,"  was  the  reply. 

"How  did  it  happen?" 

"  He  came  here  and  followed  'Licia  and  me  to  town 
one  morning  on  the  train.  He  watched  for  me  till  I 
came  out  of  lecture  and  then  he  spoke  to  me." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  Oh,  asked  whether  I'd  forgotten  him,  took  me  to 
lunch  and  told  me  you  gave  him  a  rotten  deal  —  took  his 
children  away;  from  him  —  sent  him  into  exile,  and 
so  on." 

"  Didn't  he  tell  you  that  he  deserted  your  mother  and 
you  three  children  and  that  your  mother  died  of  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Randolph  wearily,  "  but  I  knew  that.  Oh, 
you  needn't  think  I  took  to  him  right  off  the  bat." 

"  Didn't  he  tell  you  that  he  went  away  of  his  own 
desire  —  a-fter  a  horrible  scene  with  —  with  Alicia?  "  I 
felt  the  truth  must  be  told  the  boy  now.  "  Didn't  he 
tell  you  that  I  gave  him  money  to  go  and  that  only  re- 


322       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

cently  I  sent  him  more  money  to  San  Francisco,  because 
he  wanted  to  get  back  to  the  East?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  boy  in  wide-eyed  amazement.  "  He 
said  you  had  taken  everything  from  him  because  of  the 
mistake  he'd  made  —  and  tried  to  keep  him  down. 
That's  what  first  began  to  get  me.  Oh,  what's  the  use, 
Uncle  Ranny?  It's  a  hard  thing  to  say,  but  I  guess  he's 
pretty  rotten,  even  if  he  is  my  father.  He  got  me  drunk 
to-night  to  do  this  —  "  he  waved  his  hand  heavily  to- 
ward the  desk.  "  Said  there  was  some  island  he'd  found 
where  he  wanted  to  raise  copra  or  cocoanuts  or  some- 
thing—  end  his  days — :if  he  only  had  a  little  money  - 
that's  why. —  But  what's  the  use,  Uncle  Ranny,"  he  went 
on  in  the  same  weary  tones,  "  I'm  through  with  him.  I 
don't  care  a  curse  about  him  now.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  with  me?  " 

A  great  tenderness  for  the  boy  stabbed  at  my  heart. 
I  longed  to  comfort  him  as  I  could  comfort  Laura  or 
Jimmie.  Was  he  not  their  brother  and  as  much  as  they 
my  child  ?  Like  a  disease,  misfortune  and  dishonor  had 
suddenly  attacked  him.  My  breast  was  simmering  with 
bitter  self-reproach. 

"  Come,  Randolph,"  I  put  my  arm  about  his  shoulder. 
"  Pull  yourself  together.  We  must  live  this  business 
down.  There's  your  education  to  be  thought  of.  You 
must  finish,  don't  you  see?  " 

"  You  mean  —  you'd  give  me  another  chance?  " 

"  Yes,  Randolph,"  I  answered  huskily,  "  and  still  an- 
other." At  that  moment  I  felt  I  could  have  given  him 
seventy-times  seven. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  answered,  with  the  first  gleam  of  in- 
terest I  discerned  in  him,  "  will  you  let  me  go  ahead  and 
enlist?  " 

"  Enlist,"  I  recoiled  from  that.  "  In  the  army,  you 
mean?  You  are  so  young." 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       528 

"  I  mean  in  the  navy  —  I  want  to  do  it,  Uncle  Ranny 
—  I  must  do  it  —  That's  the  only  way  I  can  begin  again. 
I  can't  stay  round  where  Alicia  is." 

My  heart  went  utterly  out  to  the  boy  in  his  misery. 
I  knew  not  what  to  say  to  him.  The  pangs  of  despised 
love! 

"  Alicia  has  been  your  —  "  but  it  was  futile  to  talk  to 
him  of  Alicia. 

"  Go  to  bed,  my  boy,"  I  said,  gently  urging  him  toward 
the  door.  "  Get  some  rest  and  still  your  poor  nerves. 
To-morrow  we  shall  discuss  and  settle  this  matter  in 
your  best  interests.  Remember  you  are  surrounded,  by 
your  friends."  With  a  faint  gleam  of  gratitude  in  his 
eyes,  he  shuffled  out  unsteadily  and  I  pressed  his  hand 
as  we  parted  at  the  door.  I  heard  him  moving  about 
in  his  room. 

Then  I  realized  that  I  must  find  Alicia. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

TREADING  speedily  with  a  strange  lightness  of  step,  1 
mounted  the  stairs  first  to  see  whether  Alicia  might  have 
returned  to  her  room,  as  was  natural,  and  found  her  door 
ajar  and  the  apartment  empty. 

My  brain  still  wheeling,  I  seemed  to  float  down  the 
stairway  and  into  the  dining  room,  but  no  one  was  there. 
Somewhat  uneasily  I  passed  through  the  narrow  box- 
like  pantry  into  the  kitchen  and  there  the  door  that  gave 
on  the  garden  stood  open  wide. 

In  the  shadow,  under  the  starlit  sky,  under  the  mystical 
blue  of  overhanging  boughs,  stood  Alicia  alone,  gazing 
into  the  velvety  night,  straight  as  a  silvery  Diana,  mys- 
terious, tragic. 

At  the  sight  of  her  the  mad  tumult  of  the  evening 
seemed  to  ooze  away  from  me  in  waves.  By  an  effort 
of  will  I  forced  my  heart  to  beat  more  soberly,  as  I  ap- 
proached her  softly. 

"  Alicia !  "  I  whispered  behind  her  so  as  not  to  startle 
her.  Slowly  she  turned  toward  me. 

Her  face  was  but  dimly  discernible  but  her  eyes  shone 
in  the  night  with  the  brightness  of  the  stars.  The  one 
thought  of  my  heart  was  to  bring  Alicia  back  to  the  life 
of  the  past,  to  wipe  out  as  swiftly  as  possible  the  rav- 
ages of  the  emotional  storm,  to  bring  her  back  to  the 
tranquil  blissful  life  that  her  happy  presence  made  for 
me.  A  sad  Alicia  was  unthinkable. 

"  You  must  come  in,  my  child !  "     I  touched  her  gently. 

"  I  have  tried  so  hard,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she  turned  her 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       325 

face  and  laid  a  hand  timidly  upon  my  arm,  "  I  have  tried 
so  hard  to  keep  all  this  pain  from  you  —  so  that  you 
could  go  on  being  your  happy,  lovely  self." 

My  own  thoughts  concerning  her!  She  was  giving 
them  back  to  me  —  with  the  poignant  wistful  gloom,  the 
intense  pathos  of  the  young  that  is  so  touching,  in  the 
young  you  love  so  lacerating.  Did  I  ever  say  that  there 
are  no  women  to-day  who  wear  the  hair  shirt,  like  the 
radiant  girl  wife  of  Jacopone  da  Todi  ?  Blind  fool  that 
I  have  been! 

"  But  my  darling  girl,"  I  seized  both  her  cold  little 
hands,  "  don't  worry  about  me.  I  am  old  and  tough  — 
seasoned  to  the  fortunes  of  life  —  and  to  the  misfor- 
tunes, too.  It  is  sad,  very  sad,  but  it  is  nothing.  It's 
you  I  am  thinking  of.  Things  happen,  my  dear.  Life 
is  like  that.  There  is  a  lot  of  happiness  and  serenity  in 
it.  But  you  must  not  let  this  bite  into  your  soul  —  it 
will  pass,  Alicia  —  it  has  passed  already.  I  want  you  to 
return  to  your  happy  blissful  self  —  the  self  that  has 
made  me  —  all  of  us  —  so  happy  —  so  very  happy." 

"  I  ask  nothing  more  or  better,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she 
pressed  my  hands  with  quick  intense  little  movements, 
"  than  to  be  near  you,  to  work  and  to  —  to  serve  you  — 
that  is  all  I  ask  in  the  world !  " 

Almost  I  had  Committed  the  unpardonable  sin  —  al- 
most I  had  taken  advantage  of  her  mood  and  of  her 
grief,  taken  her  to  my  heart  and  poured  out  the  words 
of  love  that  a  hundred,  hundred  times  had  overflowed 
my  heart  and  clamored  for  utterance.  A  pretty  head  of 
a  family,  a  fine  protector  of  the  young  I  should  then 
have  been! 

With  a  tremulous  movement  I  put  both  her  hands  to- 
gether between  my  own  and  whispered  to  her  lest  my 
voice  should  betray  me. 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  want  you  to  do,  my  dearest 


326       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

girl  —  live  quietly  and  happily  near,  me,  be  happy  until 
the  —  the  supreme  happiness-  comes  to  you  —  until  —  " 
I  added  with  a  painful  laugh,  "  the  Prince  in  the  fairy 
tale  —  comes  along —  ta  claim  you." 

It  was  the  hardest  utterance  of  my  life,  but  I  felt  a 
flash  of  triumph  to  have  uttered  it. 

"  The  Prince  in  the  fairy  tale,"  Alicia  repeated  slowly, 
looking  rapt  before  her,  "  he  came  long  ago  —  I  have  had 
more  than  I  deserve-^-so  much,  so  much,  that  I  often 
tremble  to  think  of  it.  All  the  Prince  and  all  the  fairy 
tale  I  want,  or  shall  ever  want." 

For  one  instant  I  thrilled  f rora  head  to  foot.  A  dark- 
ness filled  my  being  for  a  moment  and  then  it  was  rayed 
and  forked  by  the  lightnings  of  a  strange  intoxication. 

"  You  can't  mean,  Alicia,"  I  breathed  huskily  from  a 
parched  throat,  "  you  —  that  it  is  me  —  that  you  —  " 

And  I  knew  instantaneously  that  all  the  restraint  and 
resolutions  had  been  swept  aside  —  that  after  all  I  was 
as  weak  and  weaker  than  the  boy  Randolph.  For  I  had 
spoken  without  the  iota  of  a  wish  to  resist  my 
desires ! 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  she  drew  closer  to  me  so  that  her 
sweet  breath  of  violets  was  warm  and  fragrant  on  my 
cheek.  My  head  swam. 

"  Ever  since  I  came  to  you;"  she  breathed  ever  so 
softly,  "  ever  since  I  was  fifteen,  you  have  filled  my 
thoughts,  my  heart,  my  life.  I  have  —  loved  you  al- 
ways." The  blood  roared  in  my  ears.  I  was  filled  with 
madness.  But  too  long  had  I  doubted  happiness  to  re- 
ceive it  with  open  arms.  I  had  made  a  stranger  of  it  as 
does  a  miser  by  keeping  his  wealth  hidden  away. 

"  Think  what  you  are  saying,  Alicia,"  I  took  her  face 
convulsively  in  both  my  hands.  "  I  have  loved  you  be- 
yond anything  on  earth,  beyond  life  itself.  I  have 
dreamed  of  you,  dwelt  upon  you  until  I  am  mad.  Do 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       327 

you  really  mean  you  can  love  me  —  as  a  man?  After  all 
those  foolish  years  of  hiding  and  suffering?  Is  that 
what  you  mean,  or  is  it  just  —  Uncle  Ranny?  " 

"  Yes  —  that  is  what  I  mean,  my  Prince  of  the  fairy 
tale,"  she  whispered,  hiding  her  face  against  mine  —  "  if 
you'll  take  me !  " 

My  senses  reeled  and  swooned.  She  was  tightly 
gripped  in  my  arms.  I  was  straining  her  to  my  heart. 
The  months,  the  years  of  love  hunger  charged  through 
my  veins  and  sinews  like  an  inexorable  force,  remorseless, 
irresistible. 

The  margin  of  the  garden  was  a  few  yards  away  but 
it  might  have  been  an  infinity.  The  scant  trees,  count- 
able upon  the  fingers  of  one  hand,  might  have  been  a 
forest  of  congregated  giants  with  their  vast  secret  life 
brooding  and  sheltering  us.  Infinity  and  our  small  in- 
tense reality  were  merged  and  met.  I  felt  coextensive 
with  the  vast  majestic  universe.  I  babbled  broken  words 
against  her  lips  —  I  don't  know  what  I  babbled.  For 
the  vast  majestic  universe  was  locked  in  the  circle  of  my 
arms. 

"  Let  us  go  in,  my  darling,"  I  murmured  at  last. 
"  The  dew  is  heavy  and  you  must  get  your  rest.  I  shall 
not  attempt  to  sleep  what  remains  of  this  night  of 
nights." 

"  Nor  I,"  replied  Alicia  dreamily.  "  I  want  to  meet 
the  dawn  with  you  this  morning.  Isn't  it  marvelous, 
dearest,  that  in  spite  of  everything,  in  spite  of  that  poor 
boy  in  there,"  she  ajdded  with  a  note  of  pathos,  "  we  two 
can  be  so  wildly  happy?  " 

'  Yes,  my  child,  marvelous  and  awe-inspiring.  But 
happiness  is  the  first  decree  —  the  foremost  law." 

"  I  shall  never  be  as  wise  as  you,  Uncle  Ranny,"  she 
laughed  softly,  lingering  in  my  arms.  "  There !  I  have 


328       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

called  you  Uncle  Ranny  again.  I  am  afraid  —  oh,  so 
afraid,  I  shall  always  call  you  that !  " 

I  sealed  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  if  that  is  all  you're  afraid  of,"  I  murmured  in 
the  tone  of  devout  thanksgiving,  "  if  that  is  all  —  let  us 
go  in,  my  own." 

And  now  Alicia  is  waiting  to  meet  the  dawn  with  me. 

Up,  up,  heart  of  my  heart,  star  of  my  life,  happiness, 
nearer  to  me  than  my  own  soul,  fire-bringer,  life-bringer 
—  up,  or  I  shall  deify  you  in  my  mad  folly.  Up,  up,  my 
Alicia  —  for  the  dawn  is  breaking ! 


EPILOGUE 

I  HAVE  been  sitting  in  the  shade  of  a  trellis  watching 
the  miraculously  mobile  suspension  of  a  humming  bird 
over  a  cluster  of  honeysuckle  blooms.  That  humming 
bird,  whorl  of  triumphant  aspiration  that  it  is  —  aspira- 
tion of  insect  to  become  bird  —  seems  in  a  manner  to 
embody  my  life  story. 

For  the  humming  bird  the  Golden  Age  is  this  perfect 
summer  day,  with  its  tendril  and  leaf,  its  beds  of  bleed- 
ing heart  and  bridal  wreath,  sweet  William,  larkspur  and 
marigold  and  the  heavy  fragrant  breath  of  honeysuckle. 
And  so  it  is  for  me,  also.  No  fable  is  deadlier  to  the  hu- 
man race,  to  human  weal  and  human  hope,  than  that  same 
fable  of  the  Golden  Age.  There  never  was  an  age  one 
half  so  golden  as  the  now,  nor  the  infinitesimalest  part  so 
golden  as  the  ages  that  await  us.  My  son  there,  sleep- 
ing in  his  hammock  under  the  tree,  overhung  by  fine 
netting,  Randolph  Byrd,  the  younger,  will  see  a  more 
wondrous  human  life  than  any  we  have  yet  beheld. 

Two  years  and  more  have  passed  since  I  have  opened 
this  record  of  yours,  Randolph  the  Aged,  and  I  open  it 
now  with  a  purpose,  for  a  special  and  peculiar  reason. 

Alicia  has  chanced  to  see  it  and  she  fell  upon  it  with 
a  strange  —  to  me  inexplicable  —  delight.  She  desires 
me  to  "  round  it  off  ",  as  she  puts  it,  to  disguise  it  a  trifle 
here  and  there  as  to  names  and  places,  and  to  publish  it 
for  the  edification  of  mankind !  If  only  we  could  appear 
to  the  world  in  the  stature  loving  eyes  see  us !  But  laugh 
as  I  will  at  Alicia,  she  persists  obstinately  in  her  wish. 

"  But  it  was  only  meant  as  a  memoir  for  a  friend  of 


330       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

mine,"  I  tell  her,  "  who  is  daily  growing  nearer  to  me  — 
to  Randolph  Byrd,  aged  seventy." 

"  Oh,  no!  "  cries  Alicia,  looking  with  eyes  shining  with 
happiness  and  a  face  suddenly  thrillingly  transfigured  at 
the  sleeping  baby  in  the  hammock.  "  It  is  meant  for  an- 
other Randolph  —  Randolph  the  Young,  over  there,  the 
pride  and  joy  of  his  father  —  the  hope  of  the  world." 

"  It  will  hardly  amuse  him,"  I  grunt. 

"It  will  —  won't  it,  Griselda?"  says  Alicia  to  our 
aged  friend  who  at  this  moment  emerges  from  the  kit- 
chen to  consult  with  her  mistress.  Griselda  looks  mysti- 
fied. "  Say,  yes  —  it's  for  Baby,"  urges  Alicia  cun- 
ningly. 

"  Oh,  ay  —  if  it's  good  for  the  bairn,  I'll  say  it!  " 

Griselda,  still  vigorous,  goes  her  way. 

"  One  would  think,"  I  scoff,  "  you  had  found  in  the 
manuscript  all  the  jests  of  Sancho  Panza,  falling  like 
drops  of  rain." 

"  Jests!  "  mocks  Alicia.  "  Who  cares  about  jests,  but 
the  mysterious  readers  of  comic  supplements  ?  I  find  in 
it  the  record  of  a  beautiful  love." 

"  But  even  love  birds,"  I  tease,  "  are  only  a  species  of 
parrot  —  though  many  think  they're  birds  of  paradise. 
Besides,"  I  urge,  "  I  should  have  to  call  the  thing  a  novel 
—  and  this  is  only  a  fragment  of  life  seen  through  two 
particular  eyes  and  a  very  peculiar  temperament.  There 
is  no  contour  to  it,  any  more  than  there  is  to  life  itself. 
Were  I  a  novelist,  my  dearest,  I  should  not  improbably 
make  two  or  three  novels  of  the  stuff.  I  should  at  least 
assume  the  jolly  privilege  of  playing  destiny  to  all  those 
people.  All  things  and  all  persons  should  be  rhythmi- 
cally accounted  for." 

"Fudge!"  says  Alicia.  "Don't  be  so  cubist!"  I 
ignore  her  modernism. 

"  Pendleton  would  not  be  left  roaming  about  the  world 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       331 

with  endless  possibility  of  still  blackmailing  me  and  his 
children.  Should  he  not  have  ended  his  existence  on  the 
third  rail  as  he  ran,  the  night  of  his  last  appearance? 
And  his  son,  Randolph  —  would  he  not  have  met  with  a 
heroic  and  glorious  end  in  France  or  at  sea,  instead  of 
living  a  highly  contented  and  commonplace  life  with  the 
pretty  Irish  peasant  girl  he  has  brought  from  Queens- 
town —  a  mere  ordinary  decent  automobile  salesman? 
Would  those  people  go  on  living  in  the  unremarkable 
flowing  manner  of  life?  No,  my  heart,"  I  continue 
soberly,  "  a  story  must  be  tricked  and  padded  with 
tracery  and  decoration.  And  where  is  the  bevy  of  young 
adventuresses  at  play  —  without  which  no  novel  is 
worthy  of  the  name?  " 

In  justice  to  Alicia-,  however,  I  must  recall  that  Ger- 
trude, of  all  the  others,  has  emerged  true  to  her  form. 
She  carries,  I  believe,  besides  the  military  title  of  Major, 
a  decoration  from  every  Allied  Nation  in  Europe  and  at 
least  two  bestowed  by  reigning  sovereigns.  She  drove 
out  here  in  her  handsome  car  to  see  us  the  other  day  and 
was  much  amazed  by  the  sight  of  my  infant  son. 

"  What,  Ranny ! "  she  exclaimed  with  her  usual  free- 
dom of  speech,  now  enhanced  by  life  in  camp  as  well  as 
court.  "  You've  just  brought  up  one  family  and  you're 
starting  out  to  get  another?  You  surely  are  the  original 
of  the  old  woman  who  lived  in  a  shoe.  What  a  reac- 
tionary you  are !  " 

"  Reactionary?  Yes,  Gertrude,"  I  smiled-  in  reply,  "  I 
suspect  I  am  —  in  some  things.  I  hate  poverty.  I  hate 
to  think  of  city  or  country  slums,  of  oppression,  of  dis- 
order and  uncleanliness  —  of  lawless  rich  or  unheeded 
poor.  Possibly  from  among  those  I  rear,  some  one  will 
arise  to  fathom  and  solve  these  things.  I  am  sure  greater 
wisdom  is  slowly  filtering  into  our  lives.  In  many  re- 
spects I  am,  as  you  charge,  reactionary.  I  still  have  a 


382       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

feeling  that  every  human  being  must  be  a  center  of  crea- 
tive life- — 'and  that  he  who  rears  children  is  multiplying 
creators  in  the  world — against  the  resplendent  future!  " 

Gertrude  laughed,  a  shade  bitterly  I  thought,  and 
waved  her  hand  in  a  gesture  of  despair  at  my  ancient 
stupidity.  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  prattled  in  this 
strain  to  Gertrude  —  more  particularly  since  her  recent 
husband,  Minot  Blackden,  has  followed  the  desire  of  his 
eyes  elsewhere  in  Gertrude's  absence,  is  now  happily  di- 
vorced and  married  to  some  one  who  shares  his  apart- 
ment, and  is  himself  shamelessly  begetting  offspring! 

No,  Gertrude  aside,  there  is  no  contour  to  my  story. 
Dibdin,  indeed,  still  appears  and  disappears,  ever  the 
Flying  Dutchman,  as  of  old.  He  is  at  home  now  and 
often  sits  and  smokes  in  my  study  and  moralizes  —  may 
I  whisper  it  ?  —  perhaps  a  shade  more  prosily  than  of  old. 

"  The  only  devil  in,  the  world,"  he  puffed  out  last  night 
in  his  gruff  manner,  as  though,  pronouncing  somebody's 
doom,  "  the  only  devil  is  the  darkness  of  chaos.  Chil- 
dren are  the  gage  the  human  race,  wisely  abetted  by 
Nature,  is  throwing  down  to  this  devil." 

"  And  supposing  the  children  you.  rear  should  turn 
out  to  be  *  nobodies'?"  I  mildly  put  in,  as  an  obliging 
straw  man. 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  "  he  growled.  "  Most  peo- 
ple are  nobodies.  It's  the  nobodies  of  the  world  that 
bring  about  its  catastrophic  changes.  Mark  Antony 
cunningly  put  a  tongue  in  every  wound  of  Caesar's  body 
in  the  Forum.  Mark  Antonys  are  rare,  I  grant  you. 
But  it's  the  First  Citizen  and  Second  Citizen  who  pulled 
down  Republican  Rome  about  the  ears  of  Brutus. 
Shakespeare  as  well  as  Mark  Antony  knew  that  in  the 
nobodies  resides  the  real  power  for  doing.  The  thinkers 
are  the  few;  the  doers  are  the  many.  We  need  'em  all, 
all  —  and  that's  what  kids  are  for." 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE       333 

Perhaps  I  should  own  at  this  point  that  in  my  secret 
heart  I  agree  with  Dibdin,  just  as  in  reality  I  am  certain 
that  life  has  a  contour  and  rhythm  of  its  own.  The 
world  may  appear  harsh,  may  be  truly  ill-adapted  for  jus- 
tice, culture,  beauty.  But  whatever  its  shortcomings,  the 
business  of  the  human  race  in  it  seems  to  me  clear :  To 
extend  and  carry  on  the  race  of  man  —  the  measure  of  all 
things  —  to  create  a  better  life  on  earth.  All  the  world 
is  a  man  living  in  a  shoe.  But  somehow,  very  slowly,  it 
is  acquiring  knowledge,  learning  what  to  do.  We  may 
indeed  be  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  life 
rounded  with  a  sleep  is,  in  truth,  pitifully  little.  But  that 
little  seems  mysteriously,  tremendously  important. 

And  by  that  token  it  appears  to  me  that  there  is  no 
such  creature  as  a  living  pessimist.  The  only  certain 
sign  of  genuine  conviction  on  the  part  of  a  pessimist  is 
his  suicide.  To  go  on  living  is  to  hope  for  better  things  — 
and  to  hope  for  them  is  to  bring  them  about.  That  is 
how  life  appears  to  me.  But  are  the  views  of  a  shrewd 
bookseller  who  plays  golf  of  Saturdays  of  any  account? 

But  enough  of  my  prating.  Alicia  will  doubtless  have 
her  way.  She  is  now  engaged  in  the  august  rites  of 
the  younger  Randolph's  bath.  I  expect  to  be  summoned 
to-  the  ceremony  at  any  time.  To  such  small  dimensions 
has  my  family  dwindled  that  all  attention  is  inevitably 
centered  on  the  Baby.  Laura  is  thousands  of  miles 
away,  in  California,  with  the  young  surgeon  she  met  and 
married  in  France ;  and  Jimmie,  within  two  years  of  col- 
lege, is  summering  in  a  camp  on  a  Canadian  island. 
Randolph  Junior  reigns  supreme.  Well,  I  am  content  — 
and  long  live  the  King!  But  they  are  all  as  near  and 
dear  to  me  as  ever.  For  as  old  Burton  his  "  Anatomy  " 
hath  it :  "  No  cord  nor  cable  can  so  forcibly  draw  or 
hold  so  fast,  as  love  can  do  with  a  twined  thread." 

I  see  life  stretching  and  dynamic  before  me,  glittering 


334       THE  MAN  WHO  LIVED  IN  A  SHOE 

with  possibility  as  the  atmosphere  sometimes  glitters  in 
the  sunlight  with  flittering  dancing,  revolving  points  — 
for  eyes  made  like  mine.  Though  late  in  starting,  I  must 
plunge  into  the  life  of  responsibility,  helping,  how  slightly 
soever,  to  join  the  long  generations  of  the  past  in  prepar- 
ing the  dazzling  future. 

The  name  of  the  new  time  spirit  is  Responsibility. 

At  this-  point  Alicia  appeared  to  summon  me  to  the 
Rites  of  the  Bath,  and  hung  for  a-  moment  reading  over 
my  shoulder. 

"  I  insist  upon,  adding  two  words  to  that,"  she  an- 
nounced, "  and  they  shall  be  the  last" 

"  It  is  your  privilege;  beloved,"  I  agreed  and  eagerly 
made  way  for  her.  Then  Alicia  wrote: 

"And  Love." 


THE    END 


ill  II  II  MM  Ml  I 
A    000115590     2 


